Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel
by The Sadistic Cow
Summary: Darkness rises, and in one devastating strike Peter, the very soul of Neverland, is gravely injured. Pan's allies subverted, his Wendy captured, it falls to one Lost Boy to unravel the mystery and save them all.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Fox's Peter Pan and the Pirates does not belong to me. Which is too bad for me, but good for the characters. O_o;;; Any original character (and there are a LOT of them) belong to me. :P

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood, gore, psychotic animals, insane fairies and a crippled freak. Not suitable for the young and impressionable. Possible slash, possible Mary-Sue.

Rating: R

Author's Note: This story (what I have of it, so far) has received a rather nice welcome in The Forecastle section of The Pirate's Cove, Saba's wonderful website and forum. It's based on the animated cartoon Fox's Peter Pan and the Pirates, and focuses on a lot of characters (not just Peter, Wendy and Hook). Two or three characters in specific: Bill Jukes, Slightly, and Hard-To-Hit (who did not, I believe, appear in the novel). If you've never seen the cartoon, note that Billy Jukes is approximately 13-15 years old or so in it, and he's not a tattooed freakazoid. Also, the character of Hard-To-Hit is not in the novel, but in the cartoon he is Tiger Lily's younger brother. Just so you know.

I've created a lot of original characters for this (not my fault, they came at me out of the blue, I swear) and though I've tried to make them the best I can, I would really appreciate any help and/or advice.

I hope you enjoy the story. It's my baby. ^.^

Questions, comments, etc, please review or email me at funkadelic_gnome@hotmail.com

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

Prologue

By: The Sadistic Cow

Funkadelic_gnome@hotmail.com

My mother always used to tell me I was special. When I was little, she would take me into her lap, hug me and whisper in my ear just how special I was. I was the sun and the moon, the light and the dark, her very own angel sent straight from heaven. The very best gift she was ever given, a piece of living magic. I was her everything and nothing would take me away from her, or her away from me. And, for so long, I believed her.

But then she died. Just one morning, she didn't wake up.

My father said the bad fairies came and ate her soul. My father always said weird things like that. He didn't like magic or fantasy things like Mother and I did. When he grew tired of trying to persuade me that fairies and magic didn't exist, he started telling me they were evil, nasty things that little boys would do well to stay away from.

Mother got really pissed at him for that, and he didn't start saying it again until after she died. I guess it was his way of dealing with the pain, though he could have found a better way. Telling his only son that evil fairies came and gobbled down his mother's soul in the night while everyone slept is not the best way to bond family together during a tragedy.

When Mother died, Father changed. He was a bit stiff anyways, but Mother's death only made it worse. Much, much worse. He stopped laughing completely, he never smiled, he yelled at me a lot more and he started to hit the liquor with a wild frenzy found mostly in rabid animals. My grandmother, widowed and without a penny to her name, was too scared of him to make him stop. After all, he had a lot on his plate, didn't he? His wife just died, leaving a six year old boy behind to care for, not to mention an old woman who couldn't take care of herself to save her life, and it didn't help that he himself wasn't rolling about in wealth.

Yes, Father had a lot on his mind. But that doesn't excuse his mistreatment of us. And it certainly doesn't excuse dumping me in an orphanage when I was seven because he shot himself in the face.

I don't know which as worse—life in the orphanage or the thought that my father killed himself because I wasn't special anymore. When did I stop being special? Was I convenient only because I kept Mother with him? If I remember right, Father used to hug me too, and put me up on his shoulders and spin me around until I felt sick in the stomach from laughing and dizziness. 

I still remember our Sunday suppers. Ha! They're my favourite memories, since Father and I used to do the cooking to give Mother some rest, and we would always foul it up. The only thing we could get right were the after-supper snacks. So every Sunday instead of a proper meal we would eat treats until our bellies ached, and Mother would laugh at us and say 'I told you so!'. Then we'd help her clean up the mess we made in the kitchen…or try to. Food fights were common in our house.

We never had food fights at the orphanage. The nuns there were so stiff; I always thought God had made them swear never to laugh again after he caught them the first time. I told Timothy that and the little rat went and told Sister Mary Patrick, who took the switch to me.

I never told Timothy anything ever again. I also punched him in the face and got flogged again for it.

I ran away from the orphanage when I was eight and lived under a bridge for a few years. It wasn't so bad; the train going by was loud and kept me awake a lot, but it was dry under there and nobody really bothered me. Sometimes teenagers came around at night to drink their father's booze and shouted a lot. They never saw me though, because I never wanted them to.

Peter found me when I was ten and a half. It was winter, and he hung around and visited for a couple of weeks, bringing me blankets and food when it was too wretched out to go and scrounge some up from the garbage bins myself. When he asked me if I wanted to come back to Never Land with him, I was awfully sick. I think I probably would have agreed to eat a cat that night if he'd asked. As it was, I only remember him telling me I could fly with him in the sky and fight Indians. 

I said, "Oh yeah, gimme some beans. I'm slightly sure if I fart hard enough I could fly anyway", or something to that extent.

Like I said, I was really sick.

So Peter took me back to Never Land. He had to carry me since even if Tinkerbell had sprinkled fairy dust on me I was in no condition to fly anywhere on my own. Happy thoughts, or any thought for that matter, were beyond me at that point. So away we went, and Peter took me to see Great Big Little Panther right away, who fixed me up and made my fever go away. Not before I threw up on him though. Peter laughed at that.

When I finally saw Peter's home (now my home) in the Underground House, I was ecstatic. I felt special again, since I was the only boy there other then Peter. The two of us played together for hours on end for a couple of years, but then Peter started going out into the real world. After a little while of this, he brought another boy back with him, someone named Nibs.

I wasn't happy about that. It's not Nibs' fault or anything, not really. I just felt like I was being replaced, that I wasn't good enough for Peter anymore because I wasn't special. If I was special he wouldn't have needed Nibs, right? As it was, Peter played with both of us but named Nibs as his second in command. That only made me feel worse and I decided to make a goal to out-do Nibs in anything and everything possible.

I haven't succeeded yet, by the way. At least, not in the normal stuff.

Normal stuff, you ask? Well…the stuff that isn't normal is why I'm writing in this journal thing here. I've decided that even if I can't tell anybody what happened, I could at least write it down and have it remembered in some way, maybe for people a hundred years from now to find and read. I slightly doubt that I'm going to get out of this alive…I doubt that any of us are going to get out alive.

And if we do, we'll probably all have toys in the attic, if you catch my drift.

"Just a couple sandwiches short of a picnic," as my father used to say.

Speaking of Father…I wish these damn Unseelie's would quit digging into my memories. Really, if they wanted to scare me they could just as easily take the shape of a giant poisonous spider or, like they did earlier, take over the body of an animal and try to eat me.

I actually feel sorry for those poor monkeys. They didn't deserve to have their brains turned to mush when their bodies were taken over. When this is all over I think there will be a few species of Never Land animals to avenge. Especially poor Neko. Wendy will be heartbroken when she finds out what happened to _him_.

Anyway…

Billy is sitting next to me, holding up a candle for light. He's as much a part of this as I am. And if Peter so much as brings up the fact that he's a pirate to try and downplay his importance, I will hit him over the head with the frying pan I used to kill that possessed wombat that snuck in here five minutes ago. What's left of its brain is smelling up the cave and it's starting to make me feel slightly sick.

We're all here, us defenders of Never Land. All eight of us, sitting in a circle while I scribble all this down. There would have been eleven, but Abura was murdered by a goblin-ridden water buffalo, and Honkers and Shankers are now servants of the Unseelie Court. This isn't how I thought the night would end. This isn't how I thought my _life_ would end!

I slightly wish that Peter was here to guide me, but Peter would think this was just some sort of grand adventure. Everyone here can tell you it certainly is _not_. It's hell on earth and I want it to end. I think we all do. Besides…Peter isn't in any position to do anything about it. After all, when you're stuck on a ship in the middle of a body of water, without the ability to fly, and prevented from reaching the island by mermaids driven insane, there's not a whole lot you can do to help.

Remember how I was saying I didn't feel special? How I was unhappy because not being special turned my life upside down?

For your information, I wish I could go back to being not special. I would give anything to go back to that misery, because if I could then I would be a hell of a lot happier than I am right now, being special.

Why am I special?

Well, I'm the only one who can save Never Land from a psychotic half-breed Unseelie who stole the crown from its rightful wearer, turned the entire island into a pit of shadowy darkness and is hell-bent on killing off anyone who refuses to bow at his feet. 

I am, according to the scriptures Bustopher found, the Stormrider. I bear Darkflame, the Doomsword, and it is my duty as the bearer of this sword to protect Never Land from those too powerful for anyone else to stand against.

In the candlelight everyone's faces look so worn, so tired. I can hear the Unseelie-corrupted dwarves hammering away at the rocks that separate them from us. Within the hour, they'll be in here with us and we'll have to fight. I don't know if we'll win. There's so many of them and so few of us, and we're all exhausted enough as it is. We're not going to last long, of that I'm sure.

I don't know if I can do this. I'm scared, so scared of what could happen. I've used Darkflame once, but…but it scares me. I don't know if I'll be able to control myself the next time I have to use it. I don't want to use it again, but I don't have much of a choice.

I shouldn't have to do this. This shouldn't be happening _at all_.

God, I'm scared.  
  
  
  
  
  
To be continued...

Please read and review, or email me. Comments of any kind are appreciated.


	2. Quickstep Part One

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

__

Part One: Quickstep

1/3

By: The Sadistic Cow

Eurynome69@yahoo.ca

The sun broke over the horizon that morning with as much splendor and hoo-haw as it always did. Rays of light bounced off the water in the Mermaid's Lagoon to shine brightly in the eyes of a lone figure on the beach. The sky was clear as any summer day, and birds chirped happily as they went about their business. Never Land was at peace, enjoying another sunrise and another day.

On the beach, Slightly had one hand raised over his face to protect his eyes from the sunlight as he continued his hunt for seashells. He already had quite a pouch-full; he only needed a few more to complete the day's ritual search and add to his already numerous collection. He was quite proud of his find that day; there were three shells that were his favourites. One was shaped like a heart, almost; the edges having been worn down by the tides and the sands it was buried in. The other two had a nice glossy feel and pretty swirls in them that appealed to him. 

He had even found a clamshell and within it, a large, shiny pearl. That find was a good one too, and he intended to take it home to Wendy and give it to her as a present.

After hunting up the beach one last time, Slightly shrugged; his work was done. He got what he wanted and now it was time to go home and add them to his collection in the small wooden box he kept all this personal things in. So lost in his thoughts about his shells and the pearls, he didn't notice the mermaids swimming rather close in to the beach.

At least, he didn't notice until one of them flicked her tail and sent a wave splashing over him. Slightly yelped in surprise and anger, spinning around to glare balefully at the laughing mermaid. Water dripped from his hair and a few strings of seaweed dangled off the edge of his cap while the rest of his clothes lay plastered to him, also dripping.

"That'll teach you boy to come to our beach alone!" she called.

Slightly only stuck his tongue out at her, which made her gasp and then glare in rage. Without a word, only a "Hmph!" to show his displeasure at her trick, Slightly lifted into the air and flew away. The angry mermaid's insults were left behind as he moved inland, headed for home.

By the time he got there the wind and the warmth of the sun had dried him off a fair bit, though he was still damp. He came to land in the middle of the floor of the Underground House, and was immediately accosted by Wendy, who wondered at his state of wetness. 

"Slightly, what happened?" she asked, coming to him immediately and patting at him. "You're soaked!" she exclaimed.

Slightly only rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Some mermaid was slightly angry that I was on 'her' beach,'" he replied, wrinkling his nose. "So she decided to let me know by slightly splashing me." He didn't even hint at the cuss words the mermaid had thrown at him as he left, as he felt it wouldn't be nice for Wendy to hear them. Wendy sighed.

"Those mermaids," she said under her breath. "Why can't they just leave us all alone?" Then, putting her hands on her hips, "You can't stay in those wet clothes all day long, you might catch a cold." With that, she nudged him towards a room to change. "Go, scat, shoo!" Slightly laughed and went to change his wet clothes.

When he was done, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the pearl he had found. He smiled shyly. "I found this on the beach, Wendy," he said. "I slightly thought you might like it."

Her eyes widening, Wendy beamed and took it. "Oh, thank you Slightly. It's beautiful!" She smiled brightly and kissed his cheek; Slightly turned red with embarrassment and scrubbed at his cheek.

"Aw, mother!"

Wendy smiled. "Peter and the other boys are at Small Monday Island, if you want to join them."

Slightly grinned. "Okay! Thanks, Wendy!"

She smiled again and hugged him, and with that the sprightly blonde flew out of the Underground House and headed for Small Monday Island, and his friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Slightly reached Small Monday Island, it was nearly noon and the whole place was packed tighter than the lid of a pickle jar. He wandered the streets, eyes casting about for any sign of his friends and having no luck. All he could see were fairies, brownies, gnomes and other such Fay ilk. The bright colours the Fay were wearing were beginning to make his eyes hurt and the shouts of vendors trying to woo customers in made it hard to concentrate. 

To say the least, it was a confusing bustle of constant action and he was starting to get a bit of a headache.

Suddenly, Slightly had to jump out of the way of a fairy and his herd of goats as they came thundering around a corner. The fairy shook his fist at the boy and yelled something unintelligible, before he turned another corner and was gone, leaving Slightly coughing in the dust. The boy frowned in the fairy's general direction then continued on his way, narrowly avoiding bustling gnomes and other sprites as they went about their business.

Shaking his head (the fay were a weird bunch, in his opinion), Slightly turned around and came knee-to-face with a brownie standing directly under his feet. He yelped and did a rather strange dance maneuver to avoid actually stepping on the brownie, who stared up at him with wide, hazel eyes.

"Hey! Hey, I'm walking here!!!" he screeched.

Slightly pulled back, wincing. "I'm sorry, I slightly didn't see you," he started, but the brownie cut him off. 

"You humans! You're so big you don't see anything that goes on under your noses!" He kicked Slightly's shins and the boy yelped again, stepping back. The brownie scowled at him. "Take that, oaf!"

The blonde chewed his lip. How to proceed? "Um…I _am_ sorry, sir," he began again but was once more cut off from furthering his sentence.

"The name's Pyewacket, boy! I hate being called 'sir', despise it! Makes me feel old." He glared some more, his scowl turning even more ferocious. "And if you're so sorry why don't you offer me something to make up for it?" Pyewacket had his fists on his hips, voice raised so loud the whole island could probably hear him. As it was, all over the place eyes were on them, making Slightly even more uncomfortable.

"Um…what is it I can slightly do for you?" he asked, not sure how to proceed with offering anything to a Fay. 

Pyewacket sighed. Humans had no idea of the etiquette exchanged between the Fay. It almost made him sick sometimes. "What you can do for me, boy, is take today off from your stupid human habits and give me a hand in the shop! How's that for punishment, eh? Eh?"

Slightly blinked. That didn't sound so bad. "Okay," he said.

Pyewacket snorted. "You may think it's easy," he said, stomping off. Slightly followed, blinking in confusion and wonderment. For such a little guy he moved pretty fast, the blonde noted with some mirth. Pyewacket glanced back up at Slightly a number of times; the boy's shadow hung over him almost like a cloud. "You might think it's easy to work in a shop. Well let me tell you, boy…what's your name?"

"Slightly."

"Let me tell you, Slightly…what kind of name is that?"

The blonde bristled. "What's it to you?" he demanded. "For that matter, what kind of name is Pyewacket?"

Pyewacket paused, then smirked. "Touchy," he commented. Then, "As I was saying, it's not easy working in a shop. You have to deal with the customers in a really nice, sweet n' silky way, even if they're complete arseholes. After all, you want them to buy your product, right?"

Slightly nodded. He was a little confused but ah well. It was only for one day.

"So, even if the customer is a complete and total prick, you have to act like he or she is a god. Bow at their feet, kiss their ass, ya know." They turned a corner, Pyewacket still talking. Slightly's eyes widened as he saw a rather strange sight; a spindly man walking on his hands with his spine bent at an impossible angle, legs twisted around until they touched the back of his shoulders. Slightly gawked briefly before Pyewacket kicked his shin. "Hey! Pay attention!"

Slightly snapped back to 'reality', looking down at the brownie. Pyewacket grinned. "So anyway kid, you got any skills that could benefit my humble shop of oddities?"

"Your what?"

"My humble shop of oddities." Slightly still looked confused so Pyewacket elaborated. "Kiddo, I work in the biggest pet store Small Monday Island has ever seen. Not only do I have animals you see every day, like Neverbirds and wolves, but I've got creatures from the real world too. Kangaroos, wombats, water buffalo, monkeys, tigers, lynxes, pandas…monkeys are in high demand right now for some reason, but either way. I've even got creatures from mirror dimensions. To sum it up: I've got everything."

Slightly stared at him. He didn't even know what half of these animals were! "Wow, you must be slightly busy," he said in astonishment. Pyewacket nodded.

"Indeed. And I need all the help I can get, which is where you come in!"

Slightly couldn't help but smile. He liked animals, no matter what the species. Pyewacket noticed his smile and grinned himself. 

"You like animals, kid?" he asked. Slightly nodded. "Good. Because you're gonna be workin' with them for the rest of today. And maybe, if you're lucky and I like you, you can come back tomorrow."

Slightly shrugged; he doubted it but what did it matter? Maybe if he liked it there he would come back, at least to visit. "What will I slightly be doing?" he questioned as they wove their way through the busy street. Pyewacket didn't answer at first, too busy howling curses at someone who accidentally stepped in his path with their pack mule. 

"Hey! Bugger _you_, you flaming shit-sack! Get stuffed!" He swore again. "Cripes!" After he finished he turned his attention back to Slightly. "Oh, cleaning up the cages, feeding and brushing the beasts down, showing off any that are going to be sold, etc. Lots of stuff to do, and you're bigger than I am so it ought to be easier."

Slightly nodded. "Okay," he said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the smell that hit him first. 

Slightly almost clamped his hands over his nose as he and Pyewacket crossed through the gate that led into the brownie's 'shop'. A powerful wall of nearly intolerable stench almost knocked the boy flat on his rear as a gust of wind, kicked up by the heavy wooden doors, blew in his face. It was the scent of shit, wet fur and breath tinged with blood (most likely from the carnivorous beasts penned up), and Slightly immediately felt a wave of nausea wash over him as he got his first whiff of it.

It was the sounds that hit him next.

Screeching monkeys, bellowing bulls, howling wolves and the stomping of hoofed animals sent a powerful drum beat through his ears, and Slightly had a hard time choosing whether he was going to cover his nose or his ears. In the end he did neither, as Pyewacket began to direct him in the ways of caring for animals.

"Alright kid, you'll be working in Section A first, which is the smaller animals. Monkeys, rabbits, cats, small dogs, birds and other little things. Part of your duties are to clean out the cages, give the beasts fresh water and food, if they need to be walked then walk 'em, or let them into the exercise pen. Note: monkeys do NOT go into that pen. Neither do any other animal that has five fingers and can climb because we all know what _they_ do."

Slightly blinked. "No…what do they do?"

"They moon the customers, shake the bars and piss all over people's heads from above. Not only that but they throw their own fecal matter at the customers. Then the little buggers have the audacity to laugh at us like _we're_ the inferior beings."

The blonde wrinkled his nose. "Ew. That's slightly disgusting."

Pyewacket nodded. "Tell me about it. If you've never had the displeasure of having to wash monkey poo from your hair then you're not missing anything special."

Slightly shivered in disgust.

As Pyewacket moved on and began to "show him the ropes", Slightly found that the smells and the sounds began to bother him less. He grew used to them, and became more interested in the animals he saw penned up. More often than not he would interrupt the brownie to ask what creature _that_ was, and Pyewacket would oblige him by telling the boy what it was and how to care for it. What it ate, how much it ate, its weight, the usual adult size, how they were born.

The last bit was a little gross, in Slightly's opinion, but it was, in general, interesting.

"And this is a cat," Pyewacket said, pointing to a sleek gray and black striped feline that sat in a cage, cleaning its paws and watching them with one golden eye. It took a double-take for the boy to notice that it really did only have one eye.

Slightly scowled. "I slightly know what a cat is," he grumbled. Pyewacket grinned at him.

"Just playing with ya, kid."

The sprightly blonde rolled his eyes; then blinked as he saw that the cat was watching him, giving him an almost cursory look. They stared at each other for a long moment, boy and cat, until the cat yawned in his face and resumed licking. Slightly made a face. "Same to you," he muttered, following Pyewacket as he walked off, continuing his sermon.

The cat watched Slightly leave, golden eye following his every movement with a careful, intelligent scrutiny found mostly in humans and Fay. It purred quietly.

Maybe, just maybe, he was the one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slightly grunted as he pushed a rather heavy stack of hay into the feeding trough of a huge, black bull. The giant animal snorted at him, pawing the ground; Slightly gazed nervously at it. Red-rimmed eyes rolled around at him while Slightly finished stuffing the hay into the box, then stepped back.

"Take it easy, I'm slightly not going to hurt you," he whispered to the bull in what he hoped was a soothing voice as he closed and latched the window. The bull moaned loudly at him and flicked its tail. The blonde smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow. Five hours into his first day of work and he was tired. Caring for animals wasn't easy, as he had learned.

Sighing tiredly, Slightly patted the bull on the nose one last time and turned away. He had yet to feed the monkeys, sweep up the soiled bedding in their cage and toss it. After that he had to prepare the baby tigers and their mother for pick-up; a high-paying customer was coming in to get them that day and Pyewacket wanted the big cats brushed, fluffed, fed and happy when they arrived.

As he opened the feed storage door he thought he heard the _tap-tap-tapping_ of clawed feet on gravel. When he turned around, however, nothing was there. He frowned, then shrugged. Oh well. Whatever it was, if he couldn't see it then it wasn't his business. He entered the room and looked around for a moment, his brow creasing. Then, "Aha!" as he spotted what he was looking for. Monkey food.

Slightly let out another grunt as he took hold of the bag of feed and dragged it toward the door. It was heavier than it looked, he noted with some irritation. Once again, that strange _tap-tap-tapping_ sound came to his ears. He stopped again, his frown deepening. What _was_ that? He turned slowly, narrowed green eyes scanning the vicinity. Nothing. Not a sign.

A dark scowl crossed his face. "I slightly have work to do, whoever you are!" he hissed. "Now go away!"

The tapping stopped, but he held still a few moments longer. When he was satisfied that it wouldn't appear again, Slightly turned and began to drag the feed bag out the door. He kicked said door shut with his foot and proceeded down the hall to the monkey cage, grunting and breathing heavily as he went.

Upon reaching it, he stopped and fished into his pockets, looking for the keys. Pulling them out, he went to unlock the door and go inside but he was suddenly startled by the abrupt appearance of a monkey as it leaped into the fencing, shrieking.

Slightly yelped and jumped back, eyes wide. He dropped the keys to the floor, the metal ringing almost like a bell before it fell silent. The monkey hissed and spat at him, shaking the bars and howling maniacally. With his heart in his throat and beating a thousand times a minute, the blonde stared at the enraged creature, shocked at the sudden display of complete, unfettered rage it was displaying.

Like a disease, the monkey's fury began to spread to the others. One by one, they began leaping at the fence, shrieking and clinging to it. Soon, a whole mass of furry, angry monkeys were covering the inside of the cage like some kind of strange rug, beady yellow eyes glaring balefully at Slightly as he began to back away, trembling.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded. "I slightly didn't do anything wrong!"

The only answer he got was an increase in the intensity of their shrieks. Slightly cried out again, clapping his hands over his ears to try and block the sound. "STOP IT!" he shouted.

"What's going on here?" a small, barely-audible voice yelled through the conundrum. Pyewacket appeared by his side in an instant, his face set in a scowl. "I said, what's going on here?!" he screamed up at Slightly, his own voice rising to try and ride the wave of shrieks already filling the room.

"I'm slightly not sure!" the blonde screamed back, dropping to one knee so Pyewacket could hear him better. "I went to go feed them and they jumped at the cage! I slightly didn't do anything!"

"Huh!" The brownie turned to glare at the screaming horde. "HEY! Hey, you, yes I'm talking to you! Shut your traps! You hear me?! BY THE SEVEN HELLS SHUT UP!!!!!"

His curses were to no avail, however. The furious animals only increased their howls until neither Pyewacket nor Slightly could take it. They fled the scene, tearing outside and into the safety of the open air, or so they hoped.

Outside wasn't much better though. The wind had picked up and was tearing at tent flaps like an angry child trying to get its mother's attention. Thunderclouds rolled overhead in a thick mass, boiling furiously as lightning flickered somewhere within. The temperature dropped; instead of the welcome warmth of the morning it was now bitterly cold. Rain fell in a light sheet that threatened to turn into a raging torrent at any moment.

As they were buffeted by the gales, Slightly raised his hands to keep his hat from being grabbed and blown away. 

He turned to Pyewacket, eyes bulging. "What's happening?!" he screamed.

"Damned if I know! Come on! This way!"

The two began a frenzied run through the streets of Small Monday Fair, narrowly avoiding flying objects that threatened to knock them down. Boxes, cloths, and random items of all make were torn from their roots and hurled viciously through shop windows and doors, smashing glass and breaking everything that was breakable. Leaves spun in wild frenzies as wind funnels sliced through the streets; anything that wasn't nailed down was soon in the air, including unfortunate souls who found themselves without shelter.

If anyone was screaming, Slightly couldn't hear them over the roar of the wind. But the wild, frightened eyes of the Fay and visitors to the fair were enough to satisfy the question of whether or not he was the only one who was scared witless. He could see fairies fighting to keep their doors shut, or desperately clinging to ropes or anything that would keep them from being swept away. He wanted to help, but Pyewacket jumped on his shoulder and started screaming in his ear.

"Don't even think about it!" the brownie howled. "Do you want to die with them?! There's nothing you can do anyway; if we stay out here we're just as screwed as they are!" He tugged Slightly's ear painfully and pointed down an alleyway. "Go! NOW!"

Slightly ran. Several times he lost his footing and stumbled; once he was nearly pulled up into a twister that raced into his path, but it was gone too quickly for the gales to drag him inside. With Pyewacket screaming directions into his ear (not to mention clinging somewhat painfully to his hair), Slightly made his way as quickly as he could through the streets until what felt like hours later but was really only minutes, they came to the outskirts of the fair.

Pyewacket nudged Slightly. "That way!" he said, nodding to a path that lay leading into the woods behind the fairgrounds, and Slightly made a mad dash for it. Thunder rumbled above him and lightning cracked again as he bolted beneath the canopy of leaves and into the shadows of the woods. The world was a blur as the blonde tore wildly through the forest, feeling that with every passing second was a second closer to imminent death.

"There's a cabin just down this way, boss!" Pyewacket told him quickly, leaning in close to his ear. "It's secure, made of stone! Head for it, we can hide in there until the storm passes!"

"Since when did I slightly become 'boss'?" Slightly panted. 

"Since you became the only thing preventing my unwanted flight to the moon!" the brownie retorted with a snort. "Hey, turn left now!" 

Slightly did, not even stopping to look. He crashed through bushes and shrubbery like a wild animal, not even bothering to protect his face. He could hear the wind howling through the woods, branches rubbing against each other in a frightening _hiss-hiss_ sound that sent chills up his spine. The storm was gaining on him, he could feel it.

So intent was he on not tripping, that he didn't notice when the shrubbery cleared into an open space. He yelped loudly as his foot caught on a stone and he tumbled face-first into a think path of stones. Another yelp left his mouth as he skinned his knees, and Pyewacket appeared in his face in less then a heartbeat.

"You alright boss?"

"I'm slightly fine! Just hurt my knees—"

"Good, now come on! The cottage's right there!"

And so it was. Hidden in an alcove surrounded by large, burly trees with a thick layer of leaves to shelter it from weather, a comfortable-sized cabin sat calmly, seemingly unhindered by the storm raging around it. Made of stone blocks and wood for roof tiles, the place looked actually rather cozy. Slightly picked up Pyewacket and hugged the brownie tightly to his chest to protect him from the winds as he made his way down the stone path to the cabin. 

At first he thought the door might be locked, but upon pushing it he found that was not the case. It swung open easily, without a creak or the squeal of rusty hinges. Quickly the blonde slipped all the way inside and slammed the door shut, effectively cutting off the wind. Breathing heavily, Slightly stepped back from the door, his chest heaving and hair tangled wildly.

"Well," Pyewacket said as they listened to the wind scream outside and rattle the windows, "that was fun."

Slightly snorted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small, dark shadow sat outside the monkey cage, gazing up at the beasts as they howled and gibbered and beat at the bars. Its one golden eye stared mockingly at them as the gray and black striped cat that Slightly had seen earlier began to lick its paws nonchalantly, still watching the caged ones. 

One monkey screeched and began humping the bars, urinating everywhere. The cat gave it a look of disgust.

Have you no manners?

It spat. _No._

You won't win.

We'll see.

The cat stood up, stretching languidly. It cast one look back over its shoulder and meowed darkly, tail flicking in an insulting gesture. _You'll back off if you know what's good for you._

The monkey horde shrieked. _Not on your life._

Seeming to shrug, the cat turned and trotted off, tail high in the air. 

It had a boy to find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where could he be? He shouldn't be out in this kind of weather!"

Back in the Underground House, Wendy was fretting up as big a storm as the one that was raging outside. She paced, wrung her hands and was very nearly in tears. The other Lost Boys watched her worriedly, glancing at each other from time to time.

"Maybe he was mad about something and took off. You know how he is," Nibs offered carefully. Truth be told, he was worried too; the storm had him scared witless and every time the ground rumbled from thunder a chill ran up his spine. There was something unnatural about it.

"No, that can't be!" Wendy replied. "He was happy when he left! I told him you were there and he went to go find you." Then she frowned. "You didn't see him at all?"

Nibs shook his head. "No, we didn't. We were there for a couple hours, up and down through the fair, and he wasn't there."

"Why would he lie?" Wendy was now positively flustered and terrified. "He said he was going there! Why would he—"

"Wendy, don't worry!" Peter said, flying over to her. He grinned cockily. "I'll find him!"

"But it's horrible out! You'll get a cold or—"

"I won't get a cold!" Peter said, putting his hands on his hips. "I'm Peter Pan! I never get sick!"

"I'll go with you," Nibs offered. "If Slightly's missing we should find him. You might not get sick, Peter, but he could." He left unsaid many other things that could happen to the boy: most of which included death at the hands of nature or wild beasts that stalked the night.

Peter grinned. "Alright! Anybody else wanna come?" He looked around for any takers but Wendy stepped up, her arms crossed.

"No, Peter Pan. If you and Nibs want to go that's fine but I won't risk any of my other boys getting sick!" she said crossly. Some of the other boys protested at this, albeit weakly. None of them really wanted to go outside when the weather was so bad. Peter sighed, floating over to her. 

"Oh Wendy, you worry too much!" She still looked cross so he added: "Okay, okay. Looks like it's you and me Nibs. Let's go! An adventure awaits us!"

"Be careful!" Wendy called as the two boys prepared to leave. "And bring Slightly back safe and sound!"

"Don't worry, Wendy!" Peter crowed. "We'll find him and be back before you know it!"

Nibs shared a look with the little mother; silently promising he would make sure they would do as promised. She smiled at him. "See you later Wendy!" Nibs shouted, following Peter up and out into the raging storm.

To be continued…


	3. Quickstep Part Two

Author's Note: Finally, another chapter, eh? Woo! -.-

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

Part One: Quickstep

2/3

By: The Sadistic Cow

The storm continued to rage outside as Slightly and Pyewacket sat on the floor of the cabin, leaning against the door and listening to the wind howl. Flashes of lightning sent strange shadows to dance across the walls in eerie capers; the windows rattled so wildly the two companions feared they would come unhinged. A few minutes before, Pyewacket had found a candle and lit it; the tiny light gave them some comfort in the chill cottage.

Slightly had his arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. He was soaked to the bone, hair plastered in wild tangles on his head and water dripping down his face. A minute shiver raced through him; Pyewacket looked at him gently.

"You cold, boss?"

The blonde shrugged. "Slightly," he replied, shivering again.

"Want me to find you a blanket or something?"

"Sure." 

As Pyewacket scampered off, Slightly gazed around the room. It was actually quite comfortable looking, if one paid no mind to the cobwebs, the dust and a pair of slit gray eyes peering out the half-open door of the broom closet.

Slightly blinked. Eyes…?

"Pyewacket?" he whispered harshly. "What's that?"

The brownie dashed back over to him, dragging a tattered blanket behind him. He looked in the direction Slightly pointed, and gasped. "Hey! Who goes there?!" he snapped angrily. "Show yourself!" 

He took a few threatening steps toward the closet. A low growl answered him, a rumbling sound that shook the floors and the brownie backed off rather quickly. Slightly got to his feet, his eyes wide. "What is it?" he whispered, moving one hand towards the knob on the door in case the whatever-it-was decided to pounce.

"I don't know, boss," Pyewacket answered grimly. "But I don't think I want to find out, either. Move slowly, no sudden moves."

Slightly nodded, still staring at the eyes as they blinked owlishly at him. The growl came again; a slight shifting of a body in the darkness, and then it appeared. First one leg, and then the other, covered in a light coat of charcoal gray fur with clawed paws for feet. It slid from the shadows, moving up a hip wrapped in shredded brown cloth and tied by a ragged strip of leather. A hand appeared, sharp talons gleaming in the candlelight. Gold bands on the wrists and a red cloth tied around the upper arm; long, waist-length grayish hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Most definitely female.

Werewolf.

Pyewacket hissed something nasty under his breath. "Lady Luck has farted in my general direction again," he muttered.

The wolf growled, tail flicking, hackles raised. Fangs gleamed viciously in the dim light, and eyes that burned like coals stared coldly from an almost human face. Slightly backed himself up against the wall, face white as a sheet.

"Pyewacket…" he murmured. "What…is…that?"

"Werewolf," the brownie hissed back, moving slowly to he stood between Slightly's legs. "There aren't that many left in Never Land, not after the Unseelie took over their territory. Completely wasted the clans; if they weren't tortured to death then they were used as hosts for Otherworld spirits." He glanced up and noted the confused look on the boy's face. He whispered, "Don't ask. It's ugly."

"What are _you_ doing here?" The werewolf's voice was little more than a hoarse snarl, scratchy and underused. The fur on the back of her neck puffed out, her tail twitched spasmodically and Slightly found himself grossly fascinated by the way she flexed her claws.

'So sharp and shiny…could gut a person with only a slight effort.' Slightly shivered again, from fear instead of cold. _'Ooooh, I wish Peter was here.'_

Pyewacket bared his teeth at her. "We are here to take shelter from the storm!" he retorted hotly. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"None of _your_ business you undersized water rat. Now sod off; you interrupted my sleep." She moved to turn back into the closet, but paused when neither Slightly nor Pyewacket moved. She growled again, more loudly this time. "Didn't you hear me? I said sod off. That means get out. Now."

"But…we slightly can't! Have you looked outside? We'd never make it out there!" Slightly protested. He almost bit off his own tongue when she locked her eyes on him. He gulped.

"Well now," she hissed. "That's not my problem is it? If you two saps are too weak to handle the weather, don't blame me. Blame your parents for birthing such pathetic losers like you."

Pyewacket bristled. "Who do you think you are, you giant mutant hairball!?"

The wolf spun back around. "_What_ did you call me?!"

"You heard me, wench!"

"You slimy little pint-sized booger!" She crouched down, preparing to leap for the brownie who jumped behind Slightly's leg for protection. "You'll pay for that!"

"You and what army?" Pyewacket yelled back. "All we wanted was some bloody shelter and here you come with your pompous attitude and tell us to go out and get killed! You inconsiderate bitch! Get stuffed!"

As the werewolf released her taut muscles to pounce, there was the sound of shattering glass, animalistic shrieks and the wind howling. The curtains over the now-shattered windows billowed and flapped wildly as a vicious breeze ripped through them; anything light enough to be blown over was. The candle was snuffed out as what seemed like hundreds of furry bodies swept into the cabin in a tidal wave; red-rimmed eyes gleaming with insanity.

"Fuck!!!"

Slightly didn't know who said it but he agreed wholeheartedly. When the teeming horde of insane monkeys swarmed him, the boy fell back with a terrified scream. They beat their fists on him, sprouting red marks and bruises, their claws scraping his tender skin and fangs nipping at his face. Slightly howled, kicking his feet and swinging his fists at them; whenever he hit one another would replace it and, once the first recovered, double-team him.

It was no use. They were too many, and he was just one boy. He didn't know where Pyewacket had gone, nor the werewolf, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. All he could do was cover his head, curl into a ball and hope for the best. _'Please, go away!'_ he thought wildly as one of the monkeys bit into his ankle, taking a big chunk out of it. He screamed.

"Meeee-OW!!!!!!!!"

Something else landed on top of him, adding to the monkey swarm. But instead of trying to eat him alive, it instead bit and clawed at Slightly's attackers. They shrieked and jumped away, only to jump back in a fury. They didn't want to give up their victim that easily. Enraged howls filled the cabin, adding to the already thunderous sound of the storm outside.

Another angry "Meeee-OW!!!!!!" was heard, and the blonde glanced up between bloody and chewed fingers to see a small, gray and black striped cat scuffling wildly with one of the monkeys. They ripped and tore into each other furiously, blood and chunks of fur flying in all directions and splattering on the walls. The cat hissed viciously, ears pinned back and hackles raised to the point it looked like a fat, round fuzz ball. The monkey hissed back and Slightly could almost hear what he thought they would be saying if they could talk. Mostly consisting of cuss words, though he couldn't blame them if they _were_ swearing in animal language.

The two continued to scuffle until the cat got a good jab at the monkey. He sliced into its eyes, leaving a large gouge in its face. The monkey howled in pain and stumbled back, rolling around and wailing. The cat jumped on its head, bouncing savagely on the skull until it thumped painfully against the floor. Blood began to puddle around the space where monkey-boy's head was being bounced; soon, it didn't move and lay still, crimson liquid dripping out of the orifices of its face. The cat looked rather proud of himself.

Another howl echoed, only this time it wasn't Slightly's little saviour. Both boy and cat turned to see the werewolf duking it out with more monkeys, screaming obscenities at them in a language Slightly didn't understand. Not that he cared; the language sounded awful anyway. He didn't want to know the meaning of whatever it was she was saying as he was sure he probably wouldn't like it.

At that point Slightly remembered Pyewacket. Where was he? He had been right between his legs when…

"EEEE-YAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The brownie came tearing out of nowhere, a large, burly ape hot on his heels. Pyewacket scampered and bounced all over the place in an effort to get away from it, his mouth open in an 'O' as a ripping scream droned on from his throat. It dimly occurred to Slightly that for such a little guy, he was awfully loud.

The crazed animal swiped at him with a huge paw and Pyewacket barely managed to leap over it and avoid being tossed into the wall. Noticing Slightly watching him, the brownie cried: "Boss! HELP! ACK!" Again the monkey swung at him, and again he dodged. Only this time he tripped and fell on his face. The beast loomed above him, slobbering and gibbering.

Slightly jumped into action. He took a few running steps, brought his foot back, and then let fly. He kicked the monkey square in the butt and sent it careening across the room to hit the wall with a sickening _thwack_.

Pyewacket stared up at him gratefully. "Thanks, boss," he said as Slightly knelt down and picked him up, setting the brownie on his shoulder. The cat approached, pacing around Slightly's feet and hissing menacingly. Pyewacket clung to the boy and stared around. "I think it's time we make a run for it," he commented, eyeing the other monkeys as half of them slowly started edging toward them. The cat hissed again, swiping a clawed paw in the beast's general direction.

Slightly took a step back as the monkeys advanced, their anger overcoming their fear of being kicked into the wall like their companion had been. Turning a bit, he saw that the path to the door was blocked by more of them, and he winced. "There's slightly no way out," he replied worriedly. "What do we do?"

"Fight," the brownie said grimly. "And kick some ape ass!"

"With what?"

"Anything!"

Slightly bit his lip and looked around; there was nothing he could use as a weapon, nothing that could defeat the insane animals. Wait, maybe…

Pyewacket nearly fell off the boy's shoulder as he abruptly bolted, snatching up a broken table leg and holding it up threateningly. He glared at the monkeys, brandishing the wooden leg at them. "Go away!" he shouted venomously. "Leave us alone!"

"Whoa…hey! Oh yeah! Get 'em boss!" the brownie yelled.

The monkeys attacked. Slightly swung his weapon, sending five of them flying into the wall. More came, and he hit them over the head as hard as he could, screaming. Blood splattered across the floors and the walls as their brains were crushed beneath the force of the leg as it was brought down upon them. Eyeballs fell from sockets and tongues were severed as sharp fangs slammed down on them. The smell that arose from the corpses had yet to hit Slightly's nose, but he didn't care—they had to die!

Pyewacket joined in the battle with his yells of "Go get 'em, tiger!" and "Beat their ugly mugs in! Woo!" He pumped one fist and hung on to Slightly's hair as tightly as he could with the other. He almost fell off several times when the boy abruptly spun to meet a new attack. The cat was with them all the way, hissing and spitting and clawing with all his might, taking down any psycho monkey that tried to catch the boy unawares.

One more monkey went down, and Slightly spun about to face any new attacks. None came, and he stood crouched among a pile of dead monkey bodies, breathing heavily and eyes alight with battle-passion. The table leg was raised in attack mode, and, for a brief moment, Slightly felt like a great warrior who had won a fierce battle all alone. He was strong. He was bad. He was…

Just a little boy who had fought against a horde if insane animals who were lying in hairy piles all around him in the middle of a cabin. Blood was splattered across the walls, the ceiling and the furniture. He stood in a huge puddle of brains, eyeballs and urine from when the monkey's pissed themselves upon having their skulls crushed.

The smell hit him right about then, and with a swift turn away from the sight, he barfed.

Pyewacket winced. "Ooh, gross." The silence made him look around again and he frowned. There was something missing, though he wasn't sure just what. Then it hit him. He scanned the room again, and blinked in astonishment.

The werewolf was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For as long as he could remember, Billy Jukes hated storms. He was by no means as superstitious as Robert Mullins, but he had his fair share of fears and beliefs, and he believed that raging storms such as the one roaring outside now meant bad things were about to go down. It didn't help that they were in Never Land, and Never Land was a breeding ground for weirdness anyway, so he supposed it wouldn't hurt to be very, very afraid.

Instead of raining as it had been earlier, now there was hail. Huge, fist-sized balls of ice were falling from the sky in thick clusters, shattering anything in their path. There were pockmarks all over the ship from where they had struck, and he kept thinking that at any moment they would come ripping through the ceiling of the crew's quarters to smash their heads in. 

Wrapping a blanket around himself, Billy shivered. He didn't like this; it felt wrong. Everything about the storm, about the day, had seemed so utterly _wrong_ that he was loath to dismiss it. 

Maybe it was the fact that Slightly had been spotted alone on the beach earlier by Smee, or that the blonde Lost Boy had been missing from the group when Pan made his daily calls on the Jolly Roger. Or maybe it was the suddenness of the storm, and the way the whole island went quiet an hour before it struck. That had been eerie.

The birds, which he usually listened to when he was working on Long Tom, had fallen silent. He remembered looking up and towards the island, wondering why. With all the birds there were in Never Land, even if a few were frightened others would still sing. And the frightened ones would have squawked at any disturbance. But they went silent. Even the water seemed hushed, lapping almost silently against the hull of the ship.

Billy shivered again. He didn't like it. No, sir. He didn't like it at all.

He could hear the other men murmuring to themselves nearby over the roar of the storm; they sounded as nervous as he felt. Mullins was whispering about ghosts and demons and for once, the others seemed to be actually listening to him.

"I'm telling yous, there's bad wind tonight," the Brooklyn pirate growled, casting his eyes nervously about. "Spirits n' demons walk tonight. I can feel 'em in my bones."

"And I can feel myself become sick from the slop Cookson served for dinner!" Starkey quipped. "Really, Robert, what gives you the idea that so-called spirits and demons are walking out in weather like this?"

Mullins' voice dropped a bit more as he leaned forward, and Billy had to strain to hear. "Did yous not hear the silence? Nothin' was movin'. Nothin' at all. The birds, the wind, even the bloody sea went dead for one full hour before the storm broke." He sat back, crossing his arms. "When the dead walk, the animals know. Nature knows. _Everything_ knows, but us." He snorted. "At least, yous don't. I ain't gonna be caught off-guard by some shade wanderin' the night."

Mason rolled his eyes. "Ah, come off it, Mullins. There's nothing walkin' out there on a day like this. No ghosts, no spooks, nothing. And if there is they won't be livin' long, I'm telling you. That wind'll haul yer arse up to the heavens before you can say Hail Mary."

"What's that aboot a virgin lass?" Smee asked, poking his head in. "On a night like this we need virgins, ta be sure."

Mason groaned and Starkey snickered. "Smee, you cockanniny, we're not talking about virgins!" Mullins snarled. "We're talkin about spirits!"

"Ah, the virgin be a great spirit," Smee said solemnly. "I've spent many a night dreamin a her." And with that he walked off, to attend to whatever it was he was going to attend to, leaving the rest of the pirates staring after him in bewilderment.

"I highly doubt I want to know what he meant by that," Starkey said quietly. Mason guffawed. Mullins grumbled something under his breath. Billy grinned.

"Well at least we know that _something_ is normal," he quipped, loudly enough for the others to hear. "If Smee actually started to make sense, _then_ I would be worried!"

Mason boomed a laugh, a brass sound in the stuffy cabin. "Ah, you're right there, lad. If Smee was normal I'd be scared outta my wits."

The pirates shared a laugh over the idiocy of the bo'sun for a few minutes, before a strange thumping sound could be heard coming from outside. They paused in their laughter, brows knitting in confused suspicion. The thumping grew a bit louder, barely discernable over the roar of the storm, but it got louder with every passing moment. Almost like waves slapping against the hull, only…heavier.

Billy twitched. "What's that?" he asked softly, his eyes widening. Mullins frowned deeply, lip curling up into a sneer. He drew his sword.

"Spirits and ghouls," he growled. "I told ye, lads. The dead walk tonight."

"Oh, get off that," Mason grumbled. He shifted nervously. "It ain't spirits or ghouls, it's just the storm and the water. I'm telling you, Mullins, it's nothing."

"Then why don't ya go and see?" the Brooklyn pirate demanded harshly, snapping angry eyes to the other man. Mason squirmed beneath his gaze.

"It's nothing to worry about," he began to say, but was cut off by a high-pitched keen emanating from outside. He froze, every muscle in his body going stiff. "What the hell—"

The keen came again, louder this time. It rose until it seemed to reach the heavens, then dropped again, beautiful in its eerie strangeness. Then again, it rose, louder than ever, forcing the pirates to clamp their hands over their ears and howl in pain.

"Bleedin' Mary!" Mason shouted, wincing. "What sort of thing makes _that_ noise?!" Mullins was pale. 

"Mermaids!" he hissed.

And indeed it was. Surrounding the ship, fifty mermaids with gleaming eyes full of insane hate bobbed on the water, their mouths wide open to let forth their keening song. Their tails slapped against the hull in a strange, rhythmic pattern, which reverberated throughout the whole ship. 

As the pirates stood gaping over the side, having run out from beneath the deck to see what it was, the fish-ladies stopped their song and glared up at them. They hissed venomously, and Billy found himself shuddering at the sight of them.

'Their eyes…' he thought, frightened. "Oh gods, look at them," he whispered.

Where there was once flawless skin veins now bulged out horribly. A slight green tinge coated their flesh, standing darkly out against their faces. Swollen, baggy lids beneath their eyes made it look like they hadn't slept in a week. Their faces were haggard and horrible, and all the pirates shuddered as one.

"What in the world happened to them?" Starkey wondered aloud.

"Spirits!" Mullins answered hotly. "Didn't I tell yous?"

"I'm not in denial anymore," Mason said. "But I am all for getting the hell out of here!"

"I agree!" Starkey quivered.

The mermaids continued to stare up at them, hungry looks in their eyes. They bared their teeth, keening lowly as they began to sway in the water. White foam sloshed around them as they moved, unblinking eyes unnerving the men on board the ship.

"What the blazes are they doing?" Mullins whispered.

"I don't know," Billy said. "But I really don't like it."

"Begorrah, what be happenin with the fish lassies?" Smee said, coming up behind them and peering over the edge. He adjusted his glasses and said in surprise, "Ach, they're unglier'n a troll's toenail, ta be sure."

The mermaids snarled at him, slapping their tails against the water. Their keens turned into shrieks, and they charged the ship, slamming into it as one and causing it to rock unsteadily. 

Starkey scowled, clutching the rail. "Oh wonderful, now you've gone and pissed them off!" he shouted.

The wind decided to pick up at that point, and Billy found that he had to cling to the rail alongside Starkey to keep from being blown away. The other pirates began shouting curses, stumbling in different directions to get hold of something. The sail flapped wildly and thunder rumbled in the sky, and it was then that Hook made his appearance.

"Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs! What cozening is this?" he shouted, opening the door to his room and staring out at the storm with angered eyes.

"Cap'n sir! Cap'n, the mermaids are attacking the ship, sir!" Smee shouted.

"WHAT?!"

"I said—"

"I heard you, Smee, you dolt!"

"Cap'n—"

The ship surged violently to the side as a simultaneous gust of wind and the mermaids shoved it hard, causing everyone aboard to stumble. Billy hit the deck with a thud, rolling painfully to the other side and unable to stop. He let out a yell that was barely heard over the howling gales as he hit the rail and a barrel fell on top of him. Mullins' eyes widened.

"Billy!"

A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens, striking just in front of Billy and shattering the wooden floors. Flames rose as the deck beneath the boy began to crumble and crack, and he screamed again as the railing gave way. The last thing he saw was his comrade's shocked faces as he went over the edge and into the churning waters below, where fanged fish women waited eagerly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something was wrong.

The air, the sea, the blood of the beast she had just killed. The way the land was silent, and her nerves tingling with a strange fear.

It was all wrong.

She left the corpse of the deer behind, lumbering back into the water with a growl and a flick of her powerful tail.

The Croc was an animal, and so had some access to senses humans didn't. She could feel that somehow, somewhere, something was seriously wrong.

And she didn't like it.

The blood of the deer had been foul. She didn't know why, or what it was that made it that way. But it was not how a deer ought to have tasted. And she should have known; she'd eaten many in her time. 

She slipped below the waves easily, now in her element. In the cove she could see the Jolly Roger, surrounded by mermaids. Had she been capable of human thought, she would have wondered what they were doing there.

Instead, all she knew was that the scent they carried through the water was reminiscent of the deer's blood. Foul. Unnatural. 

The Croc didn't like it. It was threatening. She was in danger from this wrong-ness. The instinct to survive was strong within her, and in order to survive…

She gnashed her jaws and swam toward the ship.

…all threats _must_ be eliminated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Billy choked, desperately trying to stay above the water. He splashed wildly as waves washed over him, fighting their intent to drown him. He could hear Mullins screaming for him, and Hook howling to lower a rope, but the voices were almost drowned out by the wind. And the low, almost seductive keening of the mermaids as they swam closer to him. 

The gunner choked a scream as one mermaid made a grab for him. He kicked at her, eyes bulging enough to show the whites. "Get—" he swallowed more water and coughed. "—away!"

She only smirked at him, baring her fangs. Billy suddenly felt very, very cold, and it wasn't due to the water being like ice.

Her teeth were stained with blood.

A low wail of terror escaped him as he tried to doggy-paddle away. Another mermaid swam in and smacked at him with her tail, and he found, to his horror, he was surrounded.

"Billy! Billy-boy! Swim, lad, swim!" Mullins' hands gripped what was left of the rail until his knuckles turned white. No! He couldn't lose Billy this way! Not to mermaids gone insane!

They surged toward him, eyes gleaming. Billy screamed.

Then the water erupted. A great wave washed over him and he went under, but not before he caught sight of the Croc rearing her head from beneath the foam. Terror overcame him at the thought he would die by her jaws, but instead she spun, clamping her great maw around the belly of the mermaid closest to him. His eyes widened to the size of saucers as the mermaid seemed to break in half, long strings of entrails dangling from her chewed flesh. Dropping what was left of her into the water, the Croc turned and snapped up another with a roaring grunt.

Billy knew he only had seconds. This was his chance to get away. He rose up above the water again, flailing his arms. Miraculously, he caught hold of a barrel that was still intact. He clung to it, kicking his feet in a desperate attempt to get as far away as possible from the blood-thirty croc and the mermaids who were engaged in battle.

The pirates screamed and cheered him on; he knew they would come for him later. Or at the very least, Mullins would. With all his strength the gunner paddled toward shore, the sound of thrashing water, screams and meaty chomps accompanying him.

'Please don't let them see me,' he thought. _'I am invisible. I am invisible. Dear Lord Neptune, I'm invisible!'_

To be continued…


	4. Quickstep Part Three

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

Part One: Quickstep

3/3

By: The Sadistic Cow

"Mew?"

Slightly closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get a grip on his stomach. His hands clutched at his knees and he trembled with the icky feeling of having just thrown up everything in his belly. He could still smell the blood and the urine, and everything else that came with the corpses scattered around him, but once his stomach rid itself of all things once-delicious, he found that, while it was still gross, it didn't seem so bad. 

"Mew?"

He opened one eye and looked down; there was the cat. It stared back up at him with its own eye, seeming to ask if he was okay. Slightly smiled weakly. "Hey, kitty," he said hoarsely. "Thanks for the save." The cat mewed again and began to purr, rubbing up against his legs. 

Pyewacket snorted from his place atop a table that had somehow remained intact during the fight. "That is a really weird cat," he said suspiciously. "Wasn't he locked up in one of the cages back at the shop? I'm sure he was, since he'd been there for a while and nobody wanted him. Said he was ugly." The cat turned and hissed at him, as though it knew it had been insulted.

Slightly frowned. "He's not ugly," he said defensively. "I think he's slightly cute!" Another 'meow' answered that, and the cat pawed at his leg, demanding to be cuddled. Slightly grinned, picking it up and scratching behind it behind the ears. "See? He's not a bad kitty. Are you?"

It purred.

Pyewacket rolled his eyes. "I never said the damn thing was ugly. That was the customer's opinions. I'll admit, he's kind of…uh…cute, but that still doesn't explain how the hell he got out of the cage. It was _locked_, for frigg's sake."

This conversation was taking place partly because they were a little confused by it, and they wanted to ignore the sight and smell of dead monkeys. Pyewacket made a face as he glanced briefly around, then hopped down off the table and headed for the door. Slightly followed; still carrying the cat. He limped a bit from having his toes chewed, but he ignored that too.

Best not to think about it.

Neither of them mentioned the monkey's random attack. Neither of them wanted to. But both of them figured it was probably safer outside, or somewhere else. Actually, _anywhere_ would be better than that cabin, what with the foul scent of dead animals and the chance more might come for them. Neither boy nor brownie wanted to think about what would happen if they were attacked again. They almost lost the first time, if it wasn't for the cat and the werewolf, who had vanished. 

Pyewacket sighed, jumping up on Slightly's shoulder. "Where do we go from here, boss?" he asked. The blonde looked surprised.

"Why are you slightly asking me?"

"Because you're the big one who can protect me from all the big, bad ugly things that creep and slither through the night," Pyewacket retorted dryly. "No, really. I don't know what I'm doing half the time anyway so leaving anything up to me can be considered a bad idea. I thought up the cabin and look where it got us already." He wrinkled his nose. "Your turn, boss. Lead us to life or death."

Slightly snorted. "Fine."

He opened the door to be greeted by a gust of wind that almost knocked him off his feet. He yelped and stepped back, bringing one arm up to cover his face. The cat jumped down and meowed loudly. It waited for Slightly to gain his balance again before setting off, tail straight up in the air. Pyewacket snickered.

"Follow the little pink bum!" he cried.

Slightly grimaced. "Ew!"

But they did, following the cat as it trotted away. Its tail was like a flag, and they kept their eyes on it as they set off through the woods, heading in a direction where the future was unknown.

Slightly thought of the fight and how he had killed a whole horde of monkeys, the smell of their deaths, the smell of his own vomit, the sight of blood splattered across the walls and floor. It was a massacre, almost. Anyone who went in there now would think someone had been murdered, painfully and violently. He looked back at the cabin once, and only once, though immediately after he did he wished he hadn't.

Slightly felt a sudden, strangling terror as he saw tiny yellow eyes staring out at him from the thickets surrounding it. Hundreds of eyes. Thousands, almost. And what he saw in those eyes made him pick up his speed and look away fearfully.

Hatred. Complete, and utter hatred.

He followed the cat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was cold. 

He was always cold. 

Flesh made of ice, eyes like granite, fingers gnarled and curled so badly they looked like rotten tree roots. His face was squashed and pumpkin-like on the one side, while the other had smooth, flawless skin. One eye had a thick, flabby flap of flesh over the lid and a heavy brow, whilst the other was arched and rather lovely. His teeth jutted out from his lips, twisted and fanged. One ear was missing, and the other was covered by thick, red hair that fell down to his shoulders. He sat comfortably upon a throne made from the flesh and bones of humans. His grossly humped spine gave him a look of constant pain, and his legs were shriveled and practically useless.

But he was powerful. Oh, was he ever powerful. 

Those gnarled and ugly hands, covered in warts and brown spots, had caused the deaths of many creatures. His eyes, granite holes in a face so full of hate, could stop a heart with one cold glance. And when he laughed the earth itself trembled in fear.

Now, amidst a sea of shadows and dark magic, a raging pride was burning in his black soul. Cracked lips split into a smile, baring his crooked, yellow teeth.

"That which will grant me power has been found."

Though he was in the 'real world', his mind and soul were somewhere else. The Heart of Never Land, where the magic Weave that bound the island to existence dwelled. It had taken him years to find it, to crack the codes of magic and break through the barriers. So many years of practice and pain, of mistakes that nearly cost him his life and successes that only swelled his thirst for power.

The Weave stretched before his mindscape's eyes, seeming to go on forever and ever. A great web of silver spider-silk, literally throbbing with magic and thrumming to a silent song. He reached out to pluck at the closest thread, forcing his way through the Weave's last defense.

He pulled gently upon it and the web vibrated almost painfully, the magic rushing through his body and sending it into twitching spasms. Somewhere within the Weave, something twitched and a searing jolt of pain rushed through him that was not his own.

The Weave hissed.

A low 'hmm' escaped his throat as he pulled his hand back, staring at the thread. Something strange, what could it be? A life force, he knew. A familiar one. One he knew, and one he despised for all the power it didn't quite know it had, power he could use so much better.

He reached out again, and tugged upon it a little harder. The life force on the other end jerked, and he felt another thunderbolt of pain rush through him. Of course it didn't hurt him; he knew pain like none other and besides, this pain was not his own. So he tugged, he felt the hurt, and he heard a mind-cry of pain from a voice he knew, and hated.

The Weave crackled.

Third time, he yanked with all of his might.

The Weave shrieked, and there was a loud _POP!_ as whatever it was shrieked with it, and went through a sudden, wretched spasm, and then fell still.

His cracked and ugly smile spread further, almost splitting his face in half. He knew what the Weave connected to now. He knew how to fuck around with Never Land. He knew exactly what he could do to get his way.

Laughter bubbled up from his throat, a twisted sound that caused vines to rot and filth to fall from the ceiling, where corpses hung by nails and chains in a tapestry of death high above. His plans were all falling into place. His creations, his pets, had been sent out to dispose of the Indians and their Chief. He knew that if they remained free, they would cause a problem, especially Great Big Little Panther. That shaman was powerful and he could not, under any circumstance, allow him to stand on the opposing side.

So he would convert him. It was so simple, like baking cookies. Besides, his pets needed hosts. The perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

'One down, more to go.' He thought with a giggle. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They slithered through the underbrush, a million strong. Soft flesh pulsed gently, and they left trails of sticky slime in their wake as they humped and thrust their way towards the Indian camp. They had no eyes, they had no mouths. As far as anyone could tell, they were nothing more than mutant slugs the size of kittens. 

Everything they touched became coated in the thick slop that lay in a heavy layer on their fat, bulbous, black bodies. The path they left was absolutely soaked with it; trees and bushes all drawn together in a clammy web of ill-smelling foulness.

They crept along slowly, each and every one of the millions of slugs waiting anxiously for a host. 

A host who would help them carve the way to complete and total domination for their master. 

And as he had ordered, the Indians were first.

But if an animal, any animal, happened to cross their path…well, that would do, too.

As it was they already had quite a collection of possessed beasts in their ranks. From jackalopes to bears, from deer to wolves, all these animals had a black, ugly slug-thing perched just behind its skull, controlling them. Dim intelligence gleamed in their eyes, and they moved jerkily. They had been away from hosts for so long they had yet to perfect movement.

What did it matter, though? They were back.

As they crept their way into the camp, they spread out. There wasn't a human in sight, but that was only because of the storm. Their master was very clever, they thought. He brought the storm down on Never Land in order to hinder the movements of their soon-to-be victims. They needed shelter to survive, and the slug-things knew that shelters didn't get up and walk anywhere of their own accord.

So in they went, slithering under tent flaps and squashing their bodies down so they wouldn't be seen as quickly. The humans were there, sitting in huddled groups and whispering amongst themselves. The slug-things bulged and pulsed gleefully.

Finally, new hosts.

The Indians never knew what hit them. All they felt was a slight cold, damp feeling on the tips of their toes or fingers, and then they were cast into darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter and Nibs were fighting the wind as they made their way towards Small Monday Island. Their clothes flapped viciously in the gales and they narrowly missed random twisters that raced by. Peter being the stronger of the two was guiding Nibs along with one hand clamped firmly on the blonde's wrist. Nibs had one hand clutching the top of his head so he wouldn't lose his cap, but Peter seemed free as a bird.

"Oh, this is great!" the boy cried. "I'm so glad I thought of this!"

"Peter, we're looking for Slightly, not playing a game!" Nibs shouted, angry.

"I know that! But it's still fun!" The Eternal Youth grinned, pulling Nibs along behind him. At that moment though, he spotted something which brought him up short. He blinked in surprise. 

"What's that?"

Nibs looked down. For a moment he felt a sense of dread. What if Peter decided to pay a visit to Captain Hook and his men before they went looking for Slightly? But when he saw what Peter was pointing to, he understood.

All around the Jolly Roger, the water had turned a deep, crimson red. It spread out and foamed grossly as the waves pushed it around, and Nibs realized with sudden horror that it was blood. 

The bodies of mermaids floated atop the blood-stained water, their entrails hanging out everywhere and their mouths agape with dead screams. Bits and pieces of them lay strewn all over the place, and both boys could see the Croc swimming away, snapping her tail about in rage. The ship itself looked like it had sailed through hell and come out again, on the losing end of a fight, and the pirates on board looked lost and confused.

"What _happened_ down there?" Peter demanded incredulously. 

"I…I don't know," Nibs replied, shocked. What _had_ happened?

Peter frowned. "I think we should check it out," he said, for once being utterly serious. Of course he was; nobody messed with Hook and the pirates except him! Dragging Nibs behind him, Peter flew low over the ship, crowing loudly to catch the pirate's attention. "Hey, Codfish!" he shouted.

Hook looked up and scowled. "Pan! How dare you show your face, you wretched creature!?"

Peter laughed. "What happened here, Codfish? Lose a fight?"

Hook snorted. "No, I did not lose a fight. Rather, your damnable island has gone to the pits of Davey Jones' locker and returned without a full deck of cards. Can you not control your sickening array of wildlife, Pan?"

The boy blinked. "What?"

"The mermaids, you dolt!" Hook roared. "For some inexplicable reason they've lost their minds and their wits. The only reason my gunner still lives is because that reptilian scum you fed my hand to must have felt rather generous this night! Had the rain not filled it to capacity and rendered it useless, I'd have fired Long Tom at you brats the moment I laid sight of you!"

"Is that…what happened?" Nibs whispered, looking at all the blood. _'The Croc got them? Oh no…this is terrible!'_

Mullins growled. "If you scugs are after feelin' bad about that lot of hellish horrors, I wouldn't bother. Something nasty was goin' on in their heads and Billy almost got the worst of it."

Peter looked around, suddenly realizing that Billy was, indeed, missing. "Where is Mr. Jukes anyhow?" he asked.

"Probably on the shore of Small Monday Island, hacking up his lungs," Starkey replied sourly. "I say, he must have swallowed several barrels of water by now so it wouldn't surprise me if that was the case."

The Eternal Youth raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess we should go see him and make sure he's alright!" he said cheerily. "Come on, Nibs. We have to go find Slightly anyway!"

Pull. 

As the two began to fly away, Peter abruptly froze. His eyes widened and he clutched his chest, mouth opening wide to take a hitched, airless breath. 

Tug.

His heart…oh god it felt like someone had wrapped their fist around his heart and begun to squeeze. He tried to speak but nothing came out, only a tiny, strangled hiss. Peter's eyes began to bulge, tiny veins bursting within them and dripping tears of blood. A vein on his forehead stood out, and he twitched violently mid-air. 

YANK.

Nibs turned when he realized that Peter had stopped, and he cried out upon the sight of Peter in such a state. His face was white as a sheet, eyes bulging out, mouth gaping open in a silent scream. "Peter!" the boy shouted as the Eternal Youth's eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped like a stone. Nibs dove after his leader, but wasn't fast enough to catch him in time.

Peter hit the deck with a sickening _thud_, bouncing roughly and rolling a few feet before he went still. Hook and the rest of the pirates stared in bewilderment as the boy lay there, barely breathing, blood gushing out of his eyes.

Nibs flew down to land next to Peter, mindful of the pirates. He kept one eye trained on them while he bent over Peter, rolling him over. He gasped, seeing the pallid look on his leader's face. Ashen colour, eyes stuck wide open and crimson, mouth agape…he looked like death itself. Nibs lurched back, one hand covering his mouth in horror.

Suddenly, he felt something grab him by the back of his shirt and lift him into the air. He came face to face with Hook, who sneered at him. "And what, pray tell, do we have here?" he said in a soft, venomous voice. He glanced down at Peter, and stared. "What in blazes happened?!"

Nibs quailed in Hook's grip, shock and fear racing through him. "I-I don't k-know…"

The man smirked. "What a glorious opportunity to slay my enemy where he lies," he snarled, drawing his sword. Oddly enough, Starkey intervened, raising a hand almost timidly.

"Ah, Captain, sir," he began, pausing once. Then he coughed into his fist. "Sir, I highly doubt that killing Pan in that state would be considered gentlemanly. Besides, would you not rather have your revenge when he is in good form? He doesn't pose much of a challenge right now, lying there like a blob of clay."

Hook considered this. His eyes narrowed as he thought, his frown growing deeper. _'If I were to kill him now, there would be no satisfaction in it. Defenseless as he is, the simplicity of severing his head from his neck would mean nothing. Preferably, I would have him awake so as to feel the killing blow.'_

"Perhaps you're right, _Gentleman_ Starkey," he replied, sheathing his sword. "For once in all your miserable life, perhaps you are right. I cannot in good conscience destroy Pan when he is not even awake to experience his death." 

Nibs breathed a silent sight of relief. Hook looked at him, scowling again. "As I cannot kill him, I will instead aid him in his recovery so that I may kill him at another time. SMEE!!!!"

The bosun hustled over. "Aye, Cap'n Hook sir?"

"Smee, I intend for that wretched brat to recover so that I may kill him myself. _Kindly_," and he exaggerated this word, "see to it that he does."

"Aye, Cap'n!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tiger Lily walked through the storm as though it wasn't even there. Her eyes were set straight ahead, unblinking, and there was a tiny smile upon her lips like she was thinking of something funny, but not funny-ha-ha. She approached her brother's teepee, pausing only once as though to converse with her inner self, before pushing the flap open and stepping inside.

Hard-To-Hit lay beneath a thick pile of animal skin blankets, sleeping soundly and seemingly unaffected by the storm. Tiger Lily stared blankly at him, once again conversing with her inner self. She barely breathed, her pupils were dilated and her nostrils flared. That small, serene smile still sat perched upon her lips.

Slowly, calmly, she walked toward him. The hump on the back of her neck pulsed and bulged like a lung, in and out, in and out. It matched the rise and fall of her chest, breathing with her as she knelt down and laid a hand on her brother's shoulder, dark eyes lacking life.

Hard-To-Hit startled, his eyes flashing open. He stared up at Tiger Lily in confusion for a moment before he let out a deep whoosh of breath. "Geeze, sis, don't do that!" he hissed, flopping back down from his half-upright position. "Almost scared me to death!" He closed one eye and sighed. "If it's not important then go away, I want to go back to sleep."

She continued to smile. "Brother, I have a gift for you."

He cracked open an eye. "Really?" He sounded suspicious. "It had better not be a prank, Tiger Lily. I'm too tired to get you back."

"No, it's not a prank." Tiger Lily continued to smile. "It is a great gift, one I'm sure you'll like." 

Hard-To-Hit frowned as she made no inflections in her speech. It was strangely flat, and he opened his other eye to peer more closely at her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, more suspicious. "You sound…funny."

"I am fine," his sister replied in that same, flat tone. "But I want to give you a gift."

"You keep saying that," Hard-To-Hit said, sitting up fully now. He stared into Tiger Lily's eyes, his frown deepening as he noticed the blankness in them. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"You will like it," she said, reaching out to grab his shoulder painfully. Her fingers pressed harshly into his skin, and he yelled in pain.

"OW! Tiger Lily!" He slapped her hand away and scuttled back, scowling. He rubbed his shoulder. "That hurt!" White marks were where her fingers had been, quickly filling in as blood rushed back into the area.

"Come here, brother," Tiger Lily said, her voice growing dark and rough. Hard-To-Hit stared at her, wide-eyed. "I will give you eternal bliss."

"What are you talking about?!" She lunged for him and he yowled, rolling out of the way. Faster than he thought possible she spun and pounced on him, knocking him to the ground, her knees dug into his chest and her hands dug deeply into his skin. Hard-To-Hit cried out again in pain.

"Eternal bliss waits for you when you accept your master," she snarled. 

Hard-To-Hit then noticed the large, pulsing blob perched on the back of her neck, under her hair. He hissed through his teeth. "What is _that_?!" he demanded, frightened.

"Your new master," said Tiger Lily as she hunched her shoulders, pushing Hard-To-Hit further into the dirt. The lump began to beat like a heart, quickly and sickly. A slow-creeping trail of slime slipped down her shoulder, dripping onto his face. 

Hard-To-Hit howled in terror as a disgusting, slimy black blob began to seep out from under her shirt and around her neck. It hung for a moment, dripping a sticky liquid that stuck to his face upon contact. He squirmed wildly in her grip, terror gripping at his heart as the blob began to drop towards him like some kind of weird spider.

"Tiger Lily! Please! Stop! Let me go!"

"Eternal bliss," she repeated, gripping him harder.

Hard-To-Hit, in a fit of horror, disgust and fear, wrenched himself violently, bringing one hand up to crack his sister across the face. She fell back with a grunt, taking the slug-thing with her. It fell to the earth with a sickening plop, and the smell that arose from it nearly made the boy gag. As Tiger Lily began to get to her feet, Hard-To-Hit bolted outside.

Right into a group of Indians with big, fat, slimy slug-things clinging to their necks. Great Big Little Panther stood in front of them all, arms crossed, eyes gazing blankly at his son as the boy jerked to a stop, skidding in the mud.

"We have been waiting for you," Great Big Little Panther said. Like Tiger Lily's, his voice was void of emotion, and Hard-To-Hit felt his stomach flip-flop in the purest horror. "Come to me and enjoy the gift bestowed upon us."

"No, father…" Hard-To-Hit whispered. "Not you too!"

The Indian Chief reached out to grab him but the boy was gone. His feet carried him through his people in a wild sprint as they all came to life, lashing out to snatch at him with their greasy, slime-slick hands. 

Hard-To-Hit ducked and dodged, never reducing his speed and before he knew it he was ripping through the woods like a bat out of hell. Tears streamed down his face as he went, remembering the blank looks in the eyes of his family, of his people.

When he finally stopped, sure that he had lost them, he dropped to his knees and wailed his sorrow to the unforgiving skies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Jolly Roger's gunner crawled out of the foamy waters looking like some kind of weird zombie creature back from the dead. Hair plastered in wild swirls and tangled across his face, clothes sopping wet and clinging to his lithe form, mouth hanging agape and eyes bulging, Billy Jukes flopped to the ground with a wet gasp. His hands dug into the sand to leave gouge marks as he dragged himself forward further, in an attempt to get as far away from the bloody water as he could.

'I made it, I made it, oh thank the gods I made it!' he thought, as a great wave of relief washed over him. Rolling over to lay on his back, relishing in the fact that he could actually breathe and not worry about swallowing water, Billy let out a slightly demented laugh. _'Oh man, that was wild.'_

Thunder rolled above him and he winced a bit. This really wasn't a good time to lay back and giggle like a lunatic, so he sat up and looked around to take stock of his surroundings, and of his own health. To his relief he had no missing limbs or hindering injuries other than a bruised rump, and he recognized that he was now on the shore of Small Monday Island. And any mermaids that might have crawled out of the waters to eat him alive were now floating in bits and pieces, washing up onto the sand by the blood-stained waves that rolled in and out.

'Oh, yuck.'

He could see the Jolly Roger bobbing out in the water, and two figures floating above it. He frowned. Who the hell would be out in this weather? The Lost Boys? But which ones? He squinted, getting to his feet to stare harder out at his ship. 

One was definitely Peter, and the other…

For a moment he thought it was Slightly, what with the blonde hair and all, but then he saw the bear cap and the red shirt. Nibs.

Billy sighed. He was rather glad it wasn't Slightly with Peter. His friend shouldn't be out in this weather; in fact, nobody should have. And what with all the weird goings on, he didn't think it was safe for even the animals to be out of their nests and burrows. 

Unless the animals of Never Land had fallen victim to the same…_thing_…that had gotten to the mermaids.

Now _that_ was a creepy thought.

'Good thing that isn't the case,' he thought.

The gunner shivered, rubbing his arms. Goosebumps dappled his skin and he knew that he would have to find shelter. It would take some time for his shipmates to come get him, or for him to return to the ship on his own. He would have to wait, either for the weather to calm or to make sure there weren't anymore psycho mermaids swimming about, waiting to chow down on Gypsy flesh.

Billy turned away from the shore, biting his lip as he looked around. Shelter. He needed shelter, and quickly. Taking a deep breath, Billy began walking towards the woods. He had been here before, maybe someone at Small Monday Fair could give him a place to stay for the night, out of the weather. 

Had he been looking, he would have seen Pan spasm mid-air and drop to the deck. Had he been looking he also would have noticed a small, gleaming silver thread flicker in the sky, one thread of many that connected Peter to the magical Weave of Never Land.

But he wasn't, and he didn't.

Though maybe he should have, since had he, he would have known that things were about to get much, much worse. 

To be continued…


	5. Trolls in the Dark Part One

Trolls in the Dark

1/4

By: The Sadistic Cow

Kitty bounded along, leaving his tail straight up in the air as he led the human and the brownie away from the cottage. Not that "Kitty" was his real name; the boy just called him that as he couldn't speak animal tongue and there were no translators anywhere in the immediate vicinity. It didn't matter though; if "Kitty" worked for the human child, then it could work for him as well.

He glanced back several times to make sure the boy and the brownie were following. Kitty couldn't afford to lose them, not this early on. There was still so much left to do! And those damn monkeys had pissed him off right fierce; never in his life had he heard such vulgar foulness spilling from the mouths of those possessed creatures as he had this night. It was filthy, and blasphemous, and Kitty didn't like it.  
  
Kitty didn't particularly like any of what was going on. He had waited so long to perform his duty, to come to the Chosen One and guide him towards his Destiny, but he had never expected it to be quite like this. Of course he had learned himself in the lore of old magics and prophecies, but everybody knew that prophecies never, ever came out the way they said they would in the scrolls. All those years he had studied and listened and been mentored, only to be thrown into a situation he wasn't prepared for.If he could have sighed, he would have. Nobody was prepared for this, especially not the boy. The brownie wasn't Kitty's business anyway so he had no clue whether or not this 'Pyewacket' was anywhere near prepared. It was the boy Kitty was concerned about, as it was the boy, not the brownie, that he had to protect.  
  
What if the boy couldn't do it? What if, when faced with the responsibility, he refused? Or was unable to handle it? That would not bode well for Never Land, nor for anyone.Perhaps he needed more support? Kitty mused, pausing to sniff at the air for any sign of the monkeys, or for any other animal that might come their way. Perhaps, so that he might succeed, he would need guardians other than Kitty. The brownie was obviously useless; he was awfully small and, the cat thought, had a mouth that was far too big. The boy needed guardians he trusted and loved. Friends.  
  
But who would do? Kitty wasn't stupid, but he barely knew the boy. What friends did the human have? The Indians? The Eternal Youth? Well, of course. Kitty at the very least knew that the human was a Lost Boy and the Lost Boy's leader was the great Peter Pan himself.That brought to mind another thought. If he hadn't already, the enemy would find the Weave. The Weave connected directly to Peter and once the enemy found that out he would, most likely, have a grand time ripping the Eternal Youth apart from the inside out. And Peter would never know what had hit him.  
  
Disturbing thoughts for a cat to think, but it only served to make him move more quickly. There had to be someone, or something that would help the boy.

And Kitty would find it.

* * *

Pushing a branch out of his way, Billy Jukes moved through the forest like a ghost. He didn't know where he was going, or why, but he knew he had to find shelter. Since he hadn't been there as often as the other pirates, he didn't know the layout of Small Monday Island as well as they did. But he did know that there were several small taverns that could give him what he needed, and so he headed in the direction he thought they were.

As he walked, he thought back to the mermaids and the Croc. Just what was going on? Mermaids weren't prone to just attacking anything en masse, although they did try to make the pirates' life a living hell every time they left the ship. And why was blood on their teeth? Just what had they been eating before they came after him? _Each other?_

Billy felt a shiver race through him at that thought. A little too disturbing to even consider, though it wasn't impossible. It just wasn't something he wanted to think about. Cannibal mermaids. Gross.

As he pushed through another cluster of bushes, Billy found himself on a path. He paused for a moment, looking around. A flash of colour to his right caught his eye, and he turned to look. His eyes widened.

Not too far down the path, a boy with sandy blonde hair was sitting on a rock. His clothes were torn, his face, hands and legs were covered in bloody scratches that Billy could see even so far away. At his feet a small, black and gray striped cat was sitting, looking up at him. The boy just breathed deeply, his shoulders slumping as though in exhaustion.

__

_'Slightly!'_ Billy thought. _'What's he doing here? And what happened to him?'_

Concern washing through him, Billy began to jog down the path, splashing mud and water as he went. The two companions looked up quickly at his approach, and Billy slowed down for a moment as he saw wild fear dancing in Slightly's eyes. He also noted that there were several ugly cuts on his cheeks and forehead, and the concern returned full force.

"Slightly?" he called, beginning to speed up again. He saw the boy relax a bit, though the fear vanished to be replaced by relief. The blonde stood up quickly but slipped in the mud half a second later. Billy lunged forward, catching him before he hit the ground. Slightly hissed, as Billy wrapped his arms around his waist and held him up, the blonde's hands clutching his shirt. "Are you alright Slightly?"

"My foot hurts," the boy replied through grit teeth. "Stupid monkey slightly chewed it up."

Frowning, Billy held him close and helped move him back to the rock. Slightly clung to him until his butt was safely planted again, and he sighed as Billy sat down next to him, looking him over carefully. "What happened?" Billy asked after a long moment of silence. He looked down at Slightly's foot and saw the chewed boot and the blood caked around the frayed edges.

"I don't know, it was slightly weird," the blonde replied, hissing in pain.

Billy's frown deepened and he stood up, moving around to kneel down in front of Slightly. He took the other boy's foot into his hands and began to pull the shoe off. Slightly yelped and tried to pull away, but Billy held tight. "No you don't, cully," he said sharply. "I want to take a look at this, it could get infected or something. Alright?"

Slightly nodded and grit his teeth again as Billy pulled his shoe off, almost crying as he felt the skin tear and fresh blood begin to well up from the wound. "Go on," Billy said softly, eyeing the bite marks and wincing. They looked painful.

"We were attacked when we went into a cabin slightly outside of Small Monday Fair," Slightly said, biting his lip as Billy's fingers probed the cut. "A big group of monkeys came in through the windows and tried to kill us. One of them took a slight bite out of my foot."

"Ow." Billy winced. "That must have hurt." He frowned for a moment. "This needs to be wrapped up," he muttered. Propping the blonde's foot up on his thigh, he reached up and untied the bandanna around his neck and began wrapping it around Slightly's foot. As careful as he was it still hurt, and Slightly sucked in a breath. "Sorry," Billy said.

"It's okay…"

The cat growled at him a little bit, never letting his eyes waver from the pirate. Billy glanced at it, then let out a little hiss himself. The cat looked insulted. "Maow!"

Slightly giggled. "Kitty, be nice," he admonished the cat. "Billy is my friend. He slightly won't hurt me."

Mewing again as though to say 'I'll judge that for myself, kid', "Kitty" leapt up onto the rock and curled up next to Slightly's hip. Raising a paw and watching Billy at the same time, he began to clean his paws in a way that made the pirate think he was being insulted somehow. Slightly smiled a bit, scratching the cat behind the ears. Kitty purred like a motor.

"Weird cat," Billy commented.

"Maow!"

Billy rolled his eyes and tied the bandanna into a tight knot, patting the blonde's foot lightly before standing up. "There you go, cully. It's the best I can do with what I got."

Slightly nodded, taking his shoe back and slowly sliding it on. He winced again, realizing that his foot had swelled a bit and the shoe was tight. Billy sat down next to him, watching him carefully. Slightly sighed and leaned back on the palms of his hands, staring down at his feet unhappily.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah. I'm just…I don't know, I'm just slightly confused."

Billy snorted. "Join the club. After what I saw earlier I think I'm as confused as a baby in a topless bar."

Kitty's head shot up and he twitched his whiskers. "Mew?!"

Slightly stared at him. "What?"

The gunner chuckled quietly to himself, also leaning back and turning his face to the sky. "Never mind."

As Slightly stared at him in confusion and Kitty gave him a look of disgust, Billy's eyes traveled the skies. Not for any particular reason; he just didn't feel like talking about the mermaid's attack. That kind of gore Slightly didn't need to know, he thought darkly. As he scanned the sky, he noticed something out of place amongst the thunderclouds. His eyes narrowed and he squinted a bit to get a better look.

There it was again. Darting in and out of the clouds was a twisting, spinning, wildly sky-dancing flock of neverbirds. Billy blinked as they rose up and down violently, making crazy circles and twisters in the air as they went. Dimly, he could hear their screeching and it didn't sound quite right. As the pirate continued to watch them, it seemed they took notice of him when they drew closer to the ground on their last nosedive. They paused, swarming about in an enormous cluster and hovering above the path.

Billy blinked, a sinking feeling erupting in the pit of his stomach. "Slightly," he began, his voice growing tense as his muscles began to bunch up. The blonde looked at him.

"Yes?"

"Get ready to run."

Slightly frowned, also looking up. "Why…?"

The birds cupped their wings and dropped, shrieks ripping from their throats. Slightly gasped and Billy yelled something unintelligible, turning suddenly to pounce on top of the blonde as the birds burst through the treetops with a shower of feathers, branches and leaves.

A great wave of muddy water rose up around them as Billy pushed Slightly violently to the ground, landing on top of him and knocking the breath out of both of them. He cried out in pain as the beak of one bird stabbed into his back, and he lurched over the other boy in an effort to protect him. Slightly screamed in terror as the birds came down in a swarm, pecking and clawing at them, unable to touch Slightly since Billy was basically sitting on top of him.

Arms on either side of the blonde's head, Billy took every blow the birds rained down on him with a cry of pain and a spasm. Blood began to drip beneath his vest, seeping through and staining it. He trembled and twitched as one of the birds got its clawed foot tangled in his hair and began to beat at his head with its wings. He screamed.

Kitty hissed and jumped on Billy's back, coming up behind the bird and clawing at it. It shrieked and pecked at him, and Kitty bounced back, only to be driven off the gunner's back by more birds. There were just too many for him to take alone, so he settled for running around the two boys and clawing and knocking any birds that came too close away from them. Kitty couldn't get at the one stuck in Billy's hair but he sure as hell could get some of them.

Meanwhile, Billy was in agony. The bird was ripping chunks of hair out and its heavy wings beating at his head didn't make him feel much better. Slightly's eyes widened, then narrowed. He reached up quickly and grabbed one of its wings; the bird stabbed its beak into his arm and he yelped, but didn't let go. Instead, he took hold of its feet with his other hand and tried desperately to free it from Billy's hair.

The bird continued to shriek, and more were coming down on them. Billy was getting the worst of it since he was more exposed to them than Slightly was. He continued to scream, and then began to writhe. He brought one arm up to try and fend them off, to no avail. All he succeeded in doing was exposing Slightly to the horde, and tangling the neverbird more deeply into his hair.

They came down en masse, and the only thing that prevented Slightly and Billy from losing their eyes was Kitty. The cat was going nuts, bouncing and spazzing this way and that, clawing at anything that came too close. Although Kitty was one small cat against a swarm of big neverbirds, he was holding his own quite well.

At that point Slightly finally freed the bird from Billy's now-tangled hair. He yelled and thwacked it in the head, sending it spinning off into the shrubbery. It was right about then that Billy, already exhausted from his ordeal with the mermaids earlier and in serious agony from the birds pecking at his flesh, passed out. His eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped on top of Slightly in a dead faint.

Slightly's eyes widened. "Billy!" he shouted, wrapping his free arm around the other boy. He gasped as the birds came at him again, closing his eyes tightly and pulling Billy closer to himself. He curled up as best he could in an attempt to protect them both, pressing his face into Billy's tousled hair and screaming wildly as the birds started attacking his head.

Abruptly, he heard a thud and a shriek, followed by another thud. He didn't dare look up for fear of having his eyes gouged out, but the sound of bodies falling to the ground made him wonder idly just what was going on. He held tightly to Billy, shaking as the birds screamed and flapped overhead, their wings sounding like the rustling of leaves in the wind.

It took a few minutes for him to realize that the sound was fading, and even then he feared to look. What if they were sitting in the trees, waiting to poke out his eyes? It could just be some kind of trick, and at any second they were ready to pounce again. Slightly didn't move, clinging to his friend with tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. The water he lay in had thoroughly soaked him by now, and he shivered with terror and cold.

Something touched his shoulder and he screamed, flinging his arm up to knock it away. He cried out again as whatever it was caught hold of his wrist and held it fast; he still didn't dare to open his eyes.

"Slightly, calm down," a soft voice spoke. "It's just me."

"And me!" said another voice.

He finally opened his eyes, and they widened. "Hard-To-Hit!" he whispered hoarsely. "Pyewacket! How…where….what?"

"Look here, boss! I found an Injun!" Pyewacket grinned, winking.

The Indian boy smiled gently, though worriedly. "It's all right, Slightly," he said. "The birds are gone."

His bottom lip quivered. Fear was in his eyes, wild and ready to burst out of control at any second. "Are you…slightly sure?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

Slightly moaned low in his throat, turning his face away. His shoulders shook with repressed tears, and choked sobs escaped his lips. Hard-To-Hit rubbed his arm gently, his own face a mask of fear and sorrow.

"It's okay," he said again, softly. "They're gone, Slightly, they're gone." He felt the need to repeat this, again and again. Not just for Slightly but for himself as well. Those birds had frightened the hell out of him when he first saw them. And not just because they were attacking Slightly and Billy, but because they had slugs on their backs.

Hard-To-Hit shuddered.

Slightly kept his face hidden, crying as softly as he could. _'Get a slight hold of yourself!'_ he admonished himself harshly. _'Lying in the mud and crying won't help any of us. Do you really want Hard-To-Hit to see you cry? So what if you ache all over and are dirty. So what if you were attacked by crazy animals? You're still alive, aren't you? And Billy's slightly worse off than you are. So get up!'_

"Hey, boss." Pyewacket leaned over from where he sat on Hard-To-Hit's shoulder. "Boss, you okay?"

Kitty hissed at him, having come over to sniff and nuzzle the unconscious Billy. 'What a stupid question' he seemed to say, flattening his ears and puffing his tail up. Pyewacket scowled at him.

"Piss off, puss."

Slightly sat up slowly, disengaging himself from Billy. He rubbed one arm across his face to try and dry his tears, but only got more mud on himself. He choked back another sob, hating everything about the night. He was filthy, he was in pain, he was scared and worst of all, he was crying in front of his friends. How he hated life right then.

"We should get out of here, Slightly," Hard-To-Hit said, looking around nervously. "The forest is too quiet and the trees are whispering dark things. It's too dangerous to be out here like this."

Slightly sniffed, gritting his teeth. "I'm slightly not leaving without Billy," he said forcefully. "He…he saved my life, he got hurt trying to protect me. I'm not going to leave him here."

Hard-To-Hit smiled wearily. "I never said we were going to," he said. "But you're hurt and he's too heavy for me to drag. We have to wake him up."

Kitty mewed, pawing at Billy's head. He paced around the pirate, sniffing and pawing here and there before he came to a stop in front of his face. Seeming to think for a moment, the cat leaned forward and licked Billy's nose. When there was no response, he batted at said nose, then licked it again.

Billy stirred a bit, his brow creasing. Kitty mewed loudly, lashing his tail. A low groan escaped the pirate's throat and slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes fluttered open. "Uhhn…"

"Billy?" Slightly asked hopefully. He leaned over his friend, shaking him a bit. He swallowed. "Billy, wake up. We slightly have to get out of here."

"S-Slightly? What happened…?" Billy blinked slowly, groaning again. "Oh gods, I feel like shit…"

"I know you do, Billy. So do I. But we slightly have to go before the birds come back. Hard-To-Hit and Pyewacket drove the birds away after you passed out but they might come back."

Billy nodded slowly, rolling over to try and get to his feet. Slightly helped him as best he could, his own injuries making it harder for him. The two boys clung to each other as they got to their feet, both of them shaking, both of them in pain. Hard-To-Hit was right there with them, helping them as best he could.

"So…" Billy took a deep breath, fighting back tears of pain. His arm tightened around Slightly's waist and he fought to keep from leaning on the other boy too much. For his part, Slightly held onto Billy as though he was a lifeline, afraid to let go. "Where do we go from here?"

Kitty mewed, trotting around their feet. Hard-To-Hit glanced down at him. "I think…he wants us to follow him," he said quietly. Pyewacket raised an eyebrow.

"You speak cat?" he asked dryly.

Hard-To-Hit threw him a dirty look. "My father was…is…a shaman. I have learned many things from him and animal speak is one. I'm not an expert but I know enough to get an idea of what he's saying."

"Yeah? Well tell me, what's his real name? Pussy?"

The Indian boy looked down at the cat, who meowed softly. He nodded and looked back at the brownie, who continued to watch him with his eyebrow still raised. "He says his name is Mungojerrie," Hard-To-Hit informed them all.

"What kind of name is that?" Pyewacket demanded. "Fluffy. Now that's a name for a cat. Smooth and short. Not Mungo-whatsit." Kitty, or Mungojerrie, hissed at him.

"I slightly don't think it matters," Slightly retorted, leaning his head against Billy's shoulder. "Let's just go already, okay?"  
  
Billy nodded weakly. "Yeah. Let's go. Follow the cat, cullies."  
  
"Silky. Even better name for a cat," Pyewacket said. "I have yet to meet you formally, human," Pyewacket told Billy as the five companions set off slowly into the woods, either limping or stumbling their way along.  
  
"And I think I'm not looking forward to it, brownie," Billy grumbled back.

* * *

_  
Ahhhh, so there you are…I thought I would find you here…  
  
Peter moaned softly, his brow creased as invisible hands slipped across his face, poking and prodding at his skin. He couldn't escape them, they were persistent and no matter which way he turned his head they were there, touching him. He bared his teeth._

"Let me alone," he whispered. His entire body was frozen, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't move any of his limbs aside from his head. He could barely even raise his voice above a whisper. It wasn't often that he was in such a situation, but now that he was, he found that he really didn't like it at all.

__

I don't think so, Pan. I have business with you that can't be put aside.

The voice came from nowhere. It had no body, no form, and it echoed in the darkness that surrounded him. Peter bristled.

"Who are you?" he hissed.

__

_Your worst nightmare._ The voice replied. Peter could almost feel it smirking at him, and he raged inside. _Ah, Pan, to see you in such a vulnerable state is a joy to me. You have no idea what it is like to be weak and unable to defend yourself. How does it feel?_

Peter didn't deign the voice with an answer and instead scowled into the darkness.

__

_You're being obstinate, I see._ The voice laughed delightedly_. It will be such fun to break you. To see you squirm, and cry, and scream. Not that I'll let you, mind you. I rather like seeing you unable to even shriek._

"Who are you?" Peter demanded again.

__

_I could answer that, but I have a question for YOU_.

Peter frowned, his eyes narrowed. The hands poked at him again and he jerked his head away. "What question?" he asked darkly.

__

How are your friends doing?

"My…what?"

The voice barked another laugh. _Do you not have any friends, Pan? Last I heard you had a whole troop of idiot children ready to follow your every whim._

Peter snarled. "I have friends!"

__

Do you know where they are?

"I…they're at home."

__

Not all of them. Am I correct in assuming that your current situation is mostly due to the fact that you were looking for one of them?

"What's it to you?"

__

_Well…I am a source of information, Pan. I have many connections that allow me to see everywhere, all at once. You may not know where your friends are, but I do. ALL of them_.

Peter felt a knot growing in his stomach. "What are you getting at?" he asked quietly.

__

Oh, just that some of them are having quite a hard time fending for themselves out there in the wilds of Never Land. Say, for instance, that blonde boy of yours. What was his name? Oh yes…Slightly.

Before Peter's eyes a great ball of flame exploded, sending a shower of sparks raining everywhere. His eyes widened as an image appeared within the flames.

Slightly sitting on a rock in the forest, a cat on the ground in front of him. The pirate Bill Jukes approaching, looking worried. Slightly wincing in pain as Jukes looked at his foot, which appeared to be injured. Birds circling in the sky, their eyes gleaming and with strange, ugly slug-things perched on their backs. Circling, swarming about above the two boys.

__

Oh dear, the birdies appear to be somewhat angry at your friend and that pirate boy. I wonder what they are going to do?

"No," Peter whispered. "No! Slightly, look out…the birds!"

The birds attacked. Jukes pushed Slightly to the ground, covering the blonde with his body in an effort to protect him. Blood everywhere, Jukes fainting and the birds covering the entire area in feathers and thick bodies. The last image was of Slightly burying his face into Jukes' hair, screaming.

Then it was gone.

"You…you…what have you done?" Peter tried to scream, but his voice was forced into the tiniest of hisses. His eyes blazed angrily. "What happened to him? Tell me! I order you to tell me!"

The voice laughed again. _Oh dear no, Peter. I think not. I have something else to show you._

Peter snarled silently as another image appeared within the flames. Peter blinked. The Indian camp? What could this voice thing possibly show him…His eyes widened.

Millions of those ugly black slug things he saw on the backs of the neverbirds were crawling their way through the forest and into the camp. They slithered and crept their way along, squashing themselves flat and slipping beneath tent flaps.

"What…are those?" Peter whispered, his eyes growing wide as he watched the slugs creep up to unsuspecting Indians. He saw their eyes go blank upon first touch of the slug-things' slimy bodies, and he watched in horror as the creatures slimed their way up to perch on the back of their necks.

__

_Those are my personal servants…_A smile was in the voice's voice. _They are quite useful to me._

Peter's horror grew tenfold as he saw Tiger Lily walking through the camp with a big lump under her shirt. She moved like there was nothing around her, and when he saw where she was headed he tried to scream.

"No! Stop it! Leave them alone!"

Tiger Lily attacked her brother, attempting to bring him over to servitude. Hard-To-Hit struggled beneath her, and the image faded out before Peter knew whether or not Hard-To-Hit escaped.

Peter stared at the blank flames where the image had been, worry for his friends rushing through his veins like wildfire. His chest heaved and his eyes blazed with fury as he snarled at the shadows. "How dare you!" Again, his voice was diluted to a small whisper. That only served to infuriate him more, and he tried struggling against his invisible bonds. "Leave my friends alone!"

__

Ahh, but Peter, I have such lovely plans for them. Especially that little girl…Wendy, her name is.

Peter went rigid. "You leave Wendy alone," he hissed, his voice dropping low of its own accord. It was a threat, not a warning, and it promised serious bodily harm should it be ignored.

__

She's quite a pretty thing, is she not? I can see why you like her so much. Perhaps my pets need a mother, of sorts. She would be the perfect candidate.

"Wendy is our mother and you can't have her!" Peter tried to shout.

__

Pan, you don't seem to understand that whatever I want, I get. And I've taken a fancy to that lovely little thing. Now just sit back, relax, and watch…

Peter didn't have a choice, and as the ball of flame exploded once more to bring up new images, a wild, untamed scream of denial and fury ripped from his throat, roaring through the darkness and out into the light.


	6. Trolls in the Dark Part Two

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

Part Two: Trolls in the Dark

2/4

Honkers spat viciously to the side, a great wad of phlegm flying from thick lips to splatter on a nearby rock. His huge bulk rumbled through the cave like a tank, one arm bent and a gigantic club resting on an iron-plated shoulder. Clothed in shredded leather and animal skins, Honkers was indeed a honking beast of a troll, standing at eight foot seven and weighing approximately four-hundred and eighty two pounds, all of that pure muscle and sinew.

Trolls were generally stupid, but this one took pride in at least not being the stupidest. That position was reserved for his twin, Shankers, whom he was currently looking for with not the least trace of irritation. Shankers had gotten lost in the caves again and Honkers, after being shrieked at by his mother after one of her mead binges, had decided to retrieve his idiot brother from wherever he was wandering.

"Stupid kin, must always lose self in caves," the huge troll grumbled, clenching his fist around the handle of his club. Oh how he would smack Shankers over the head with it when he found him. "Mumsy hate when Shankers missing, Mumsy take out on me. Damn him! No like being thumped."

Honkers knew the caves better than anyone, and he knew his brother better than anyone as well, so he didn't have too much trouble finding him. After all, where would an idiot like Shankers go in the midst of a war-preparation?

He turned a corner and came upon a giant, wooden gate that stood at least thirty feet high. He knew this place, and he knew Shankers would be there. Growling upon seeing the doors slightly ajar, the behemoth troll pushed them further open and stomped angrily into the hidden treasury that only he and his brother knew about.

Honkers thundered past piles of gold and gems, taking no heed of them as he went. He had little patience for sparkly things, unlike most trolls who loved to hoard it. His choice of lust was weapons; scythes, axes, cannons, swords…

Speaking of which, there his brother was. Sitting amongst a small pile of coins, gems, rubies and other such ilk, Shankers sat leaning forward, chin cupped in his hands. His eyes were locked on a sword that lay trapped within a large stone, a sword that had been there since what seemed to be forever.

Ever since they had found it, both Honkers and Shankers had desperately tried to remove it from the rock, to no avail. It was stuck in there as though the earth itself had a hold of it. Although neither of them had been able to remove it, Shankers never ceased his fascination. For hours and hours he would stare at the gleaming blade, talking to it and to himself. About what, Honkers didn't know or care.

At the moment he was too pissed off to care about all that much. Shankers didn't even turn when his brother approached, too engrossed in watching the sword that he only realized someone else was there when a big hand picked him up and hauled him around. When he saw Honkers, he smiled brightly, if not a little grossly.

"Brother come to talk to spirit-sword?" Shankers asked, grinning toothily.

"No, brother come to take stupid twin home," Honkers snapped back, whapping Shankers over the head angrily. "Mumsy drink again and wants Shankers in cave-home. Everyone getting ready for big fight. Mumsy not want Shankers involved."

The other troll pouted. If pouting is what it could be called. Although he and Honkers were twins, they didn't look all that much alike. Whereas Honkers was enormous and made of steely muscle, Shankers was a bit on the scrawny side. Thin arms, spidery legs and a face so droopy and hanging it looked like gravity had taken a good hold of his face and yanked. He was as dumb as he was ugly, and he was awfully ugly in comparison to fairies and other magic folk.

"Me no want go home," Shankers whined. "Spirit-sword say home is bad, bad." He covered his face with his hands and peeked through his fingers at Honkers, who scowled at him.

"Brother just come from home," he growled. "Home is good. Spirit-sword in your head, you talk to self too much." He dropped his brother and began pulling him away, but to his surprise Shankers resisted.

"NO!" The scrawny troll yelled, pulling back. "No good! Spirit-sword say home is gone! Bad things in the dark, bad things making home bad!"

"Idiot!" Honkers hit him over the head again. "Idiot talk to self, not to sword. Sword is stupid, twin is stupid. Do what brother says!"

"No!" Shankers ran to hide behind the rock, quivering. "Brother not see what spirit-sword show," he hissed, as Honkers stared at him in surprise and anger. "Spirit-sword not stupid, spirit-sword knows. Show Shankers the outside, show Shankers dark things coming. Not go back to cave-home! Too bad, too bad!"

"Idiot brother with toys in attic," Honkers growled. "Idiot brother come now!"

As Honkers began to walk around the stone in an attempt to grab his brother, a horn sounded. Both trolls raised their heads and stiffened; the Horn of Grushnik was sounding, roaring through the caverns and echoing off the walls in an eerie howl. The cave-home was under attack.

Honkers snarled, drawing his club. "Attack!" he said. "War come too soon, not ready!"

"Told brother!" Shankers whispered from behind the rock. When Honkers looked back at his brother, the smaller troll's eyes were wide and bulging from his head. "Told brother bad things come, told brother home is gone. Too late, too late! Should run!"

"Home not gone yet, stupid," Honkers said, approaching the other. "Still chance get there in time, still chance to thwack heads."

Shankers trembled. He glanced up at the sword, and his eyes got even bigger. Then, "No, no time. Close door, brother! Close door!" He leaped to his feet and pounded his fists on the rock. "Close door! Damn brother close door! Coming! Coming! Coming!"

Honkers took a step back. "Brother lost sense!" he yelled. But Shankers was already on the move, rushing toward the door and pushing it with all his might. Being weaker than Honkers he was having more trouble closing it. He grunted and yowled, punching the door.

"Close! Close! Close!"

The not-so-distant sound of running feet came to Honkers' ears, and he raised his head. His jaw clenched tightly and he moved to stand next to his brother, poking his head out the door. An axe came flying from the darkness to land solidly into the wood beside his head, and he jerked back.

"Dwarfs!"

"Brother help close door?" Shankers pleaded, pushing vainly on it. Honkers nodded; his ears were good and he had detected at least a hundred or more dwarves headed their way. He was no weakling but that was too many, and he had to protect his brother. Shankers the Idiot couldn't save his own hide even if he had a weapon and knew how to use it.

Together, the two trolls shoved the giant doors closed, and just in time, too. Dwarves on the other side began to hack and claw at it, shrieking obscenities in a language neither brother knew. They stepped back, and Shankers immediately ran to hide behind the sword again. Honkers scowled.

"Stupid brother scared of dwarfs," he grumbled.

"NOT scared of dwarfs!" Shankers protested hotly. "Scared of things riding dwarfs!"

As Honkers frowned and wondered about that, something extremely large and heavy smashed against the door. He whipped around as dust and stone fell from the ceiling, and the whatever-it-was on the other side howled in a bloodthirsty fury.

"Scared of that thing, too," Shankers whined from behind him, as the huge creature, or whatever it was, thumped against the doors again.

Honkers could only stare while large cracks split up the wood and dust continued to fall on them from above. He could honestly say that whatever this thing was, he was scared of it too.

"What do now?" he wondered aloud, mostly to himself.

"What do now?" Shankers repeated, as though it was the dumbest question he had ever heard in his entire life. "What do now is get hells out of here!"

For once, Honkers agreed with his twin.

* * *

Captain James Hook had never, in his life, seen such a strange spectacle. And he had seen many strange things since he had come to Never Land. From the ghost of his dead brother to seeing his greatest enemy age to that of an older man than he, then regress again to become a troublesome child. Not much surprised Hook anymore, but this was just plain weird.

The sky itself had turned a pitch black, to the point where it was no longer visible. Miles of endless darkness rolled each and every way, and it was as though he was looking into an abyss that had no bottom. Purple twisters reached down to the earth, spinning this way and that, sucking up everything in sight and pulling it into their clutches. It was a miracle the ship had not been touched by them yet, although Hook didn't believe in miracles.

Hundreds of voices had risen in a keening howl, low but insistent, and it gave him the creeps. The water had turned a deep red, and frothed against the ship's hull where the bodies of dead mermaids bumped and floated. The fish had seemingly lost their minds as well, floundering and leaping into the air in a wild frenzy until there wasn't a calm spot anywhere in sight. And all over the island, birds were spinning about in huge flocks, mindlessly flying in one direction and then zipping off in another.

All this and the fact that Peter still hadn't awakened were driving Hook to the brink of madness. No explanations as to just what the hell it was that was going on, and his enemy at the tip of his hook yet untouchable. The Jolly Roger's captain was angry, and everyone in the vicinity knew it.

"Gall and brimstone!" he roared suddenly, spinning around to stab his metal appendage at Nibs, who was sitting by Peter. The boy jumped in surprise as Hook stomped toward him, towering over the Lost Boy with a visage of fury that could have curdled milk. "Boy, why hasn't the slubberdegullion awakened yet?"

Nibs tensed up. "I don't know!" he snapped back. "He's hurt, give him time to rest!"

"The lad's right, Cap'n," said Smee. "Give 'im an hour at best and he should be coming back ta us soon enough."

"He had better, Smee, for I have not the patience to wait upon this bilge rat."

"Let me alone…"

Both the captain and bosun looked down at those uttered words. Peter was turning his head from side to side, open eyes staring blankly into nothing. His body shivered as though he was cold, a trembling that grew with every passing second. Hook sneered.

"So, the wretched brat awakens," he said. Then he frowned. Peter's eyes were blank, as one who remained in unconsciousness. "Perhaps not," the captain mused, narrowing his eyes.

"…who are you?"

Smee blinked. "Ye know me, I'm bosun Smee!" he told Peter.

Hook very nearly rolled his eyes. "I highly doubt he was addressing you, Smee."

Nibs shook Peter gently; his face set in a mask of worry. "Peter? Peter, wake up."

Peter's head turned again, and his face frowned. "Who are you?" he asked again. He seemed to be fighting to move, but there was nothing restraining him. Nibs and Hook both frowned, and Smee scratched his head.

"Begorrah, something strange sure is happenin'," he said.

"Not as strange as whatever runs through your mind at times, Smee," Hook growled. "It seems that Pan talks in his sleep." His eyes went to Nibs, narrowed and suspicious. "Does he often do this?"

Nibs shook his head. "No…he doesn't." He left out that sometimes Peter cried in his sleep, but that was neither here nor there. Nibs told the truth and he would say no more on it. He shook Peter again, gently as before. "Peter? Peter, wake up! It's me, Nibs."

For his part, the Eternal Youth continued to mumble to himself. His face grew angry, then afraid, and all of the sudden he hissed out, "No…no! Slightly, look out…the birds!"

Nibs blinked. "Peter, Slightly's not here…we were looking for him!" He shook the boy again, harder this time. "You have to wake up now, Peter! It's just a dream!" He held it back, but Nibs was becoming frightened. What was going on? Who did Peter think he was talking to? And what was this about Slightly?

"What cozening is this?" Hook demanded. He bent down to take a closer look at Peter, and scowled ferociously. "You will awaken from your dream, Pan, or I will have your Lost Boy's guts for garters!"

"You…you…what have you done?!" Peter's voice abruptly rose, and his body went through a sudden jerk. "What happened to him?! I order you to tell me!"

"I have done nothing yet, but if this nonsense does not come to an end soon I will," Hook muttered. "But to whom does he speak?"

Smee scratched his head. "Mayhap he be talkin' to invisible ghosties, Cap'n?"

"Smee, you clabberdungeon lummox!"

Mullins peered around Hook's shoulder, scowling. "Wouldn't surprise me if it were demons and shady spirits," he growled. "The boy's jabberin' at himself as like he was talkin' to something dark. I tell yous, this whole night's goin' to hell and we ain't walking out of the pits 'til whatever's behind it all's through with us!"

"No! Stop it! Leave them alone!" Peter's voice broke through, desperate and angry. The pirates and Nibs all looked down at him in confusion as the boy began tossing his head, face twisted into fury. "How dare you! Leave my friends alone!"

"Spirits and ghouls," Mullins hissed. "There's evil in it."

"I daresay something strange is going on, whether or not it is your rather familiar theory about it being demons," Starkey sniffed. Truth be told, Pan's cries were beginning to freak him out a bit. What was it that was haunting the boy, if there was anything at all? Starkey shivered.

"I'm not likin' this, Captain," Mason grumbled from Hook's other side. "First the mermaids, then Pan dropping harder than a rock, and now this. I'm not keen on seeing what happens next."

"Enough!" Hook shouted, raising his hand. He turned suddenly and caught Nibs up by his shirt, lifting him to dangle the boy in front of his face. "You! Where is Miss Tinkerbell?"

Nibs blinked, surprised at being grabbed so suddenly and the strangeness of the question. "I…I'm not sure where she is," he replied guardedly. "She went to the fairy court a few hours ago, and said she would probably be back home by now."

"Then you wouldn't mind fetching the pixie for me," Hook sneered. "Perhaps she can provide us with some answers to this most tiring riddle, as we all seem to be lacking in such."

"I'm not leaving Peter here alone with _you_!" Nibs snapped.

"You were not given a choice, you sniveling brat," Hook snapped right back. "Pan will be among the living when you return, provided you return quickly and my patience does not wear out. If either of you wish to see another dawn, I would suggest you get off my ship and bring the pint-sized pixie back here before another hour passes. Otherwise," he sneered again. "You and your precious Pan will be sleeping in Davey Jones' locker on the morrow."

He dropped Nibs to the deck without the least trace of gentleness, and the boy immediately took to the air, scowling at him. "Fine, but if anything happens to Peter you'll pay!" he told Hook angrily.

The pirate captain laughed. "You need not worry, boy, for my hook will stay its vengeance until another time."

Casting one last feral look back at the captain, silently promising death should he do anything to Peter, Nibs bit his lip and flew away, heading back towards the island as fast as he could.

__

'Ah, Tink, I hope you're home by now…Peter needs you!'

* * *

"You _eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeediot_!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What in de name of Aphrodite's ass crack were you tiiiiiinking?!"

A brief flash of black light and a roll of thunder without sound later, and a twisted little brownie-thing lay sprawled on cold stone, blood and other gore seeping from a chunk taken out of his skull. Demented-looking creatures leapt back into the shadows, squealing amongst themselves as they stared at their fallen comrade before their eyes moved to the one who had killed him.

Black hair thrown back in wild spikes and flesh as gray as a corpse, the Master's head servant hovered over the dead body of the brownie, arms crossed firmly over his chest. Amber eyes with flecks of red in them blazed as they cruised over the assembled horde of possessed creatures; lips pulled back to flash white fangs into the darkness.

"That eeeeediot," he grated in a voice that sounded like shifting gravel, "deserved what he got. And if any of you follow eez example, I shall do that an worse!" His audience swarmed about nervously, chattering at each other in hushed voices. The fairy growled; they fell silent almost instantly. "Now, tell me of what it eez that you have founded."

Bodies scraped together for a moment, and then a tiny gray mouse wearing an equally tiny sombrero hopped into the light. It sat up, toes twitching as it adjusted its frayed red vest and fiddled with the tiny gold buttons on the front. The fairy glared at it. The mouse twitched its whiskers.

"Abura my sir, we founds a empty tree! A empty tree with baby mans in it, my sir!" It spread its paws wide, its voice rising in excitement as the fairy didn't seem about ready to kill it yet. Rather, he only lifted one elegant eyebrow and continued to stare at the mouse. "Big-big tree with baby mans, and baby girl-man! Were't not what my sir looked for?" it asked hopefully, unable to quite remember if that really was what he had been looking for, or if it had flubbed the job again. Small brains often had small memory.

The fairy, Abura, curled his lip nastily. "Speetz, do you know if these," he coughed delicately, "_'baby-mans'_ are Peter Pan's Lost Children?"

The mouse nodded so hard its sombrero almost fell off; as it was, it had to push the offending hat back up off his nose so he could see his master. "Yes my sir, oh yes! Am sure the Losted Baby-Mans are Pan-belonged. Baby girl-man talked of Pan, my sir, it did! Speetz saw it with own two eyes."

"Yay." Abura sneered.

"Yay, my sir?" Speetz meeped happily, quivering now with delight at the seeming pleasure the fairy was expressing. "Speetz did good-good, my sir?"

Ignoring the mouse now, the fairy turned to the rest of the horde. "You will go," he said. "Find de children, and bring them here, to me. De Lord, he wants them alive if de lot of you can handle that. Speetz will show you de way, if eez small brain remembers," he told them, one eyeball rolling about to give the mouse a rather nasty look. "If he forget, eat him."

The mouse squeaked nervously, glancing around at its companions and realizing that once the idea had been put into their heads it wasn't going to go away. They gnashed their teeth viciously, practically slobbering as Speetz cowered down, shuffling back into their midst. "Speetz not fail, my sir," it whispered hoarsely. It then swiftly scampered away, and the horde followed.

"Da, I am surrounded by eediots," Abura muttered to himself, running his fingers across his forehead once they were gone. Fluttering his wings irritably, he flew to sit on a large stone near a pool of inky black water. Staring at his reflection in the murky pool, he pinched his nose and tugged on a long lock of hair. "Ai, de Lord will like Speetz if he can pull this off, he will!" he tittered at his reflection.

Then his eyes narrowed. "Da! _Steeeeeuuuuuupid_ greedy boy! Can't keep eez hands off de magic, oh no. He must take-take-take and leave nutting behind!!!!!!!" His eyes flashed darkly before a giggle escaped his throat. "Ai! But we can slow eez greedy fingers, can't we, pup? Yes, we can I think."

Sticking his toe into the water, Abura began making circle patterns. Tiny sparks of light danced on the dark surface as a light mist rose up. "Da, eez time for a leetle conflict, eh?" He stabbed one toe into the water, causing a chain of ripples to mar the surface. "Will see de free ones bite Lord Saxon's ass, we will. Icky, Icky, Icky, Icky… Time to get to work, old friend. Time to get to work. Icky, Icky, Icky, Icky…"

A low growl sounded behind him. "If your precious Lord Saxon heard you saying that you would be dead, Abura. And so would I, if he heard my name and got his hands on me."

The fairy smiled, baring his fangs as he continued to stare into the water. He didn't look up as a large figure approached him from behind, standing over his tiny form like a great beast. Pointed ears twitched, and clawed paws flexed as they rested on gray-furred hips. Abura continued to smile, not once looking up. What he didn't see could not be torn out of him later. "Da, _jiinhyou_ Icky."

"_Jiinhyou de_, Abura. What do you want?"

"I want de world, _kibun_. You know that."

A snort followed that. "Yes, but what do you want from me right now? I can't stay long, you know. If Saxon finds me here he'll kill me. Or enslave me, both of which I am not keen on."

"Da, it eez a sad ting, na?" Abura chuckled darkly. "No, I have another purpose for you." He tapped his feet on the water, smiling as images sprang up. Icky leaned over him to look; an eyebrow flew up at what she saw. "That eez your purpose."

"You have got to be kidding me. Abura, you know I hate humans!" She leaned back, a snarl wrinkling her face. "I won't do it."

"All you have to do eez get them into de Were-Forest," the fairy soothed. "From there, you can leave them at any time dat you please. By then I will have others coming to take up care from there on."

Icky blinked. "Eh…the Were-Forest? Abura, you do know that the Were-_Forest_ is home to the Were-_Trees_. They eat flesh."

"Da, Icky, I know." The fairy smirked. "And that eez why I want them there."

She sighed, scratching behind one ear. "I don't get you, fairy. I really don't."

"You do not need to, pup. Get de job done right and you will see why it eez I would have it this way. Now, go fetch."


	7. Trolls in the Dark Part Three

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

Part Two: Trolls in the Dark

3/4

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," Pyewacket crooned, beckoning towards Mungojerrie with a threatening index finger. "C'mere and gimme that damn fish before I eat your tail!"

The cat meowed dangerously, fish dangling from his mouth. He puffed his tail up to its biggest puff, flattened his ears and growled again. Pyewacket scowled dangerously as Mungojerrie swung a paw at him before bouncing up to sit on a rocky ledge.

"You dirty little fur ball…it's cats like you that make it so our species don't get along!"

The two had been at it for at least twenty minutes. The group had only been in the cave for forty. Somewhere along the line, Mungojerrie had vanished, only to return with a large fish that he deposited at the boys' feet. Then he had vanished again, and returned with another. It continued like that until Hard-To-Hit had struck a fire, and by then there was quite a display of fish waiting to be cooked and eaten. None of the boys knew where Mungojerrie had gotten the fish, but they didn't question that. They were more than happy to eat what the cat had given them.

Slightly chuckled, watching through half-lidded eyes as Pyewacket continued to chase Mungojerrie around the small cave. Curled up in a tattered blanket he had found and finally warm thanks to the fire Hard-To-Hit made, the boy barely stifled a yawn of exhaustion. It had been, so far, a long day.

Feeling the blonde yawn against his thigh, Billy glanced down from where he leaned back on his palms. "You tired, cully?" he asked softly.

"Uh-huh."

"Me too."

"The salve I gave you should help your wounds," Hard-To-Hit said quietly, coming to sit with them around the fire. He rested his hands on his knees, the firelight casting sorrowful shadows across his face. "But that was the last of it. I didn't have a lot when I left the village, and going back for more would be far too dangerous." He glanced at Slightly. "I am sorry I couldn't find a better blanket. That was all we had left here."

"What is this place, anyway?" Billy asked, letting his eyes run over the faded chalk drawings that covered the walls.

"It was a haven for my people, a place to consult with the spirits of our ancestors," said Hard-To-Hit solemnly. "Long ago, my people would come here to ask the spirits for help and advice. Much as we are, they would sit around a fire, smoke their magic pipe and call upon their ancestors for guidance." He sighed audibly. "But one night, many years before I was born, the spirits stopped answering their calls. Great Big Little Panther was my age then, and he told me his elders tried everything to call them back, but they never came."

A lengthy pause followed this, and the three boys sat watching the fire crackle. Then Slightly spoke. "Has anyone ever tried calling them again?"

The Indian boy shook his head. "No. Great Big Little Panther believes the magic here has died, much as it has in other holy places."

"Died?" Billy asked, his brow creasing. "How can magic die? And didn't you say the spirits abandoned your people?"

"The elders _thought_ they did," Hard-To-Hit replied. "But my father knew better. He was—is, a powerful shaman. The strongest my people have ever seen. He does not need a holy place with which to consult them." He smiled wanly. "Holy places are usually teeming with magic…so much so that there is no need for a barrier between the living and the dead worlds. The magic itself becomes a barrier. More like a silk curtain, though. Spirits can enter the barrier but not cross through it, especially if they themselves had magical tint in life.

But if a holy place is abused, the magic dies. Vanishes in a whisper, like it never was."

"Abused?" Slightly frowned. Hard-To-Hit nodded.

"Yes. Even shamans can only use a certain amount of magic at a time in holy places. To use too much magic at once depletes it forever; it does not have the chance to return to the earth and rejuvenate itself. If too much magic is lost in a ritual, it will not return to the earth, and will instead go to the air and be lost to Neverland.

Once the Wind Father claims the magic the Earth Mother could not keep, he sends it across the world to another place where it might prosper and grow. There it becomes another holy place, but we suffer the loss of its presence here, where we can use it." He sighed. "I wish the ancestors would come to me. I don't know what to do."

"Hard-To-Hit," Slightly said. "Why aren't you at the village? Where's Tiger Lily and everyone else?"

The boy's face darkened briefly. "They…they are gone."

Billy stared at him, astonished. "Gone? What do you mean gone, cully?"

"I mean that they are gone!" Hard-To-Hit snapped back, angrily. His eyes glistened wetly and he rubbed at them furiously. "Their spirits have been thrown from their bodies, and there's something else there! And…and…there were _things_…"

Behind Hard-To-Hit, Mungojerrie paused. Fish dangling from his mouth, the cat swiveled his head to stare at the boy. Pyewacket also paused, his brow furrowing.

"Things?" Slightly whispered.

Hard-To-Hit nodded, shivering. "Things. They were…ugly. Like those creatures on the birds backs. Slugs." He shook his head. "I've never seen anything like them before. They were perched on the necks of my people, and…and their eyes were blank. They weren't in there anymore. They came after me, told me I would find eternal bliss with the masters." The boy wiped his eyes again. "I had no choice but to run."

"Oh…Hard-To-Hit, I'm sorry." Slightly's face creased unhappily.

"So am I," the Indian boy replied sullenly. "I came to Small Monday Island to see if there were any fairies who could help me. But the fair was deserted."

"So you decided to go looking," Pyewacket said, hopping into the firelight. "And you met me." He looked over at Slightly. "Well, boss, what are we going to do now?"

The blonde groaned, pulling the blanket over his face. "Would you slightly stop asking me? I don't know."

"We need to rest for a while, anyway," Billy said, glaring at Pyewacket. "For now, we're not going anywhere. I think we should take turns keeping watch, just in case more of those…things, come along." He looked at Hard-To-Hit, who was staring into the fire. "Would you mind being first?"

The boy looked up quickly, smiling a little. "I will. It will give me something to do, and I am not injured like you. Besides…I'm not tired. And I need to think."

The pirate nodded. "Wake me up in a few hours, and I'll go from there."

"But you're hurt too," Hard-To-Hit said. "You need rest as much as Slightly does."

"I'll take it," Pyewacket said suddenly. Mungojerrie stared at him, tail twitching. "What? I can do it."

Slightly chuckled from under the blanket. "If you slightly want to…"

The brownie puffed up his chest proudly. "I sure do, boss! I'm a warrior at heart, you know. All that battle crying and yowling and such. Nothing will get past me!" He thumped his chest. Mungojerrie let out a cat's equivalent of a snort. Pyewacket scowled at him. "Oh shut up, you. Nobody asked for your opinion."

Billy stifled a chuckle. "Alright then. When you're done watch, I'll take it up from there. Unless the cat wants to." He eyed Mungojerrie, as though waiting for the cat to offer his assistance. For his part, Mungojerrie only flicked his tail and gave the pirate a one-eyed stare as though to say, "Are you nuts? I need my beauty sleep too, you know!"

Hard-To-Hit nodded. "I will take fours hours on watch, then we'll switch. The rest of you, rest and heal. We will all probably need to be at our best, if today was any indication of what's to come."

Pyewacket snickered. "Sweet dreams, boss."

Slightly groaned.

* * *

Bustopher Jones wasn't pleased with all of the thumping, howling, and cursing going on above him. It sounded like a horde of drunken dwarves reveling over some victory or another and participating in odd forms of fornication. It droned in his ears and gave him a headache, and whenever the _kuyuri_ up there shrieked, a piercing pain shot through his temples. He never liked the sound of their voices and would prefer to stay as far from them as possible, if only to save himself a migraine. Unfortunately, it couldn't be helped at the moment and the wyrm felt one of his worse migraines beginning to set in. No, Bustopher was not pleased at all.

_What's a dragon supposed to do to get some grack'n sleep around here?_ He wondered, cracking open a muddy brown eye to peer through clumps and clods of dirt that lay atop him in layers. His muscles shifted as his body awoke from sleep, one step behind his mind, which was now in a good deal of pain. _Stupid dwarves, I can smell their stench even this far below my treasury._

…_My treasury!_

Now, it is a well-known fact that dragons are extremely protective of their treasure hoard, killing and gobbling down the intruders without even a single thought of remorse or conscience. Bustopher Jones was no different. Once the fact that his treasury had unwelcome visitors pushed its way into his sleep befuddled brain Bustopher, Neverland's Wyrm, rose in a fury.

The earth around him broke and crumbled as thick spikes, designed specifically for underground travel, shifted into action. A low snort, followed by a growl and a powerful thrust of his tail sent Bustopher surging upwards, towards the sound of newfound enemies. A roar began bubbling up from deep in his throat, and by the time he broke the surface and lifted his head several hundred feet into the air, the roar had become deafening.

Eyes glowing with an infernal fury known only to dragons, Bustopher gazed down at the swarm of dwarves as they stampeded into the treasury, crushing the protective doors into dust. He snapped his jaws, baring twenty-inch fangs that dripped with venom as his crest flared and rattled dangerously.

"You dare to enter my treasury?" Bustopher demanded, weaving his head from side to side. His spikes trembled violently as the muscles in his snake-like body shifted with every sidestroke of his diamond-shaped head.

The dwarves shrieked and shook their fists at him, brandishing their puny weapons. Bustopher snorted in disdain at the sight, snapping his jaws again. The _kuyuri_ he had heard groaned, stepping heavily into the treasury as it hissed and moaned for blood. It splayed its claws and unhinged its jaw; seconds later, it shrieked in challenge.

Bustopher splayed his scales, crest rattling savagely in offense. "You wish for a fight," he roared, hauling his head back, "then that is what you'll get!"

The _kuyuri_ howled and lurched forward; Bustopher blocked the attack with a swift dive of his thick muzzle. The two locked jaws briefly, snarling and roaring, and amidst the mayhem that ensued the great wyrm didn't notice two trolls vanishing out the shattered doors and into the darkness of the caves.

* * *

_Imagine…_

Fields of green, and the wind blowing.

_Imagine…_

Rivers running fresh, and creeks bubbling happily.

_Imagine…_

Squirrels bouncing amidst the trees, and birds singing.

_Imagine…_

Bodies crumbling to the ground, limbs flung in all directions. The green grass turns red with thick, sticky blood, staining it forever. Screams echo from somewhere between the canyons. And in the Mermaid's Lagoon, bloated sea-dwellers float in death.

_Imagine…_

Wendy, precious Wendy, falling victim to dark magicks. Listen to her howls of pain as her body is shredded, bit by bit. Deformed goblins and tiny beasts tear at her flesh, devouring her little by little, prolonging her agony.

_Imagine…_

Dark elves dancing around a bonfire, cheering heartily as the Lost Boys burned. Bubbling, blackened flesh and mouths open in dying shrieks, those little boys dying the death of witches.

_Imagine…_

_There's nothing you can do, Pan. Their lives belong to me._

Torturous eternity…seconds ticked by as though they were lifetimes, an endless sea of twilight and bursts of pain striking Peter's heart. Unknowingly, his tongue ran across dry and cracked lips in a strange and repetitive ritual, as though by some means his lips would moisten and move without dust falling from them if he kept licking. Eyes as lifeless as a corpse's stared unblinking into the melting sky above him, where clouds formed terrible images that caused shudders to run through Peter's small frame.

And all the while, the voice spoke to him. It told of horrendous tortures that awaited him, and those he loved most. Its dry, grainy tone caused goosebumps to spring up on his flesh, needles prickling up and down his body. Had he saliva, he would have been foaming at the mouth.

And yet, despite the pain and horror, he still tried to resist.

_Stupid boy, you cannot escape me. _

Peter's heart skipped briefly. _You'll never have my friends…_

_You think such? Hah! Foolish, ignorant boy. Your band of whelps are within my reach as we speak. They cannot run. They cannot hide. Nor can you._

_YOU think such,_ Peter's blurry, mist-encased mind snapped back. _My boys can defeat anything you throw at them! And so can I!_

_You're not in any position to counter me, brat. As you lie there gloating, you are within reach of your enemy's claws. One thought from me and he will destroy you._

Peter laughed darkly, weakly. _Ahh, but you won't. You want my death to be at your hands, not Codfish's. You don't want to share me with him._

The voice went silent for a moment. _Admittedly, that is true. But Pan, ahhh, Pan. For now I can play with you. Captain Hook may have you at his fingertips, but I have your mind and your soul. I can do with you what I wish. Your life continues only by my will._

_My life continues at MY will,_ Peter snarled tiredly. _I am my own master!_

The voice just laughed. _So you think, boy, so you think._

* * *

Tinkerbell was in an awful predicament. No amount of swearing or jingling could get her out of this one – she had tried that and all it had done was piss her captor off. At least, she thought it had pissed it off. Or maybe it was perpetually pissed off. Whatever the case, Tink had taken a nasty bite on her thigh and the poison running through her small body caused her to think twice about cussing again.

Not only that, but what her captor had done with Hazelnut had silenced her rather quickly. She could still hear the sharp crack of bones, the soft squelching of ripping flesh and her old friend's shrieks as she was eaten alive.

Her glow had diminished to a rather ugly green, and all she could really do was hang there, strung up like a dead carcass. Trapped in the centre of an intricate web strung across a small ravine, the pixie fought the urge to vomit at the sight of the earth below her littered with the bones of her kin. It was like some disgusting graveyard, and the keeper of said graveyard was preparing to squeeze its bloated body out of a crevice and waddle towards her.

Through film-covered eyes, Tink could see a blurry form pop out of a crack. Eight large, hairy legs rubbed together and poked experimentally at the web, as though testing it for strength. It didn't seem happy about it, but that was quickly rectified. Turning about, a white, gooey substance flew from its backside and quickly, using its many legs, the thing fixed up whatever had not met inspection in its web.

Tink groaned as a breeze wafted the smell of the creature's webbing into her nose. It was rank and the fairy had trouble keeping her stomach from heaving at the scent. Seeming to have heard her, the blurry thing paused and let out a weird little giggle. Then, after rubbing its forelegs together briefly, it scuttled towards her faster than she thought ought to be possible.

It drew near enough for her to see clearly and again, as she had done when she first laid eyes on it, Tink flinched back as violently as she could.

Bulging eyes, nine in all, rolled about in a head shaped like that of an infant's. Pouting lips gleamed with saliva and dripped with poison, as two overly large fangs peeked from behind them. Its body was spider-shaped, with a corpulent rump that bounced when it moved. It rose up on its hindquarters to wave obscenely long, hairy legs in the air.

Tink moaned miserably.

It giggled again. Gleaming red eyes focused on the tiny pixie, and its mouth parted in a sick smile to reveal a hideous pink mouth, full of tiny teeth designed for long hours of chewing.

Had she the strength, Tinkerbell would have cried. As it was, all she could do was allow one tear to flow down her cheek and think to herself: _Is this the end for poor Tinkerbell? Oh, Peter!_

Abruptly, through ears clogged with excess mucus from the spider-baby's venom, she heard something. A shout? Was something out there? Or was it her imagination?

She heard it again, more clearly. Much closer.

"HEY!"

The creature snapped its jaws and pulled back, its fat body twisting and nearly falling down the web from the speed at which is turned. It squealed in offense, eyes beginning to roll about in its head in anger.

Lifting her head with what strength she had left, Tink peered through the glaze that covered her eyes. Something flew out of the trees far above her, coming down slowly to hover above them. She blinked, trying to focus. _Who could that be?_ She wondered, moaning again as a wave of illness washed over her.

"Tink! Tink, are you alright?"

_I know that voice…?_

"Tink! Hold on, I'll save you!"

Tinkerbell gasped. "Nibs!" she tried to shout, but could barely make it to a whisper. "Don't…it's too dangerous…"

A fleeting thought of "You silly ass" crossed her mind briefly as the blonde Lost Boy dove towards her, drawing his wooden sword. The spider-baby squealed again, bouncing up and down on its web. It rose up, waving its awful legs about as Nibs drew in for close combat.

As the boy came within striking distance, the spider thing let fly. It snapped open its mouth and fired a blob of goo towards Nibs, aiming for his eyes. Surprised at the sudden attack, the blonde had no time to shield his face and the slime struck him square on. Immediately, the poison within the slime-ball began to burn into Nibs' eyes, like soap. He screamed, dropping his sword and falling towards the earth, rubbing frantically at his eyes.

The spider thing let out a shrieky giggle and spun its rump towards the falling boy, letting loose a stream of webbing to ensnare him. Nibs howled in pain and fear, feeling the webs wrap around his legs and dangle him upside down as he continued trying to wipe his face clear of the poisonous liquid.

Tink swallowed, more tears brimming. _No,_ she thought. _No, this can't be happening. It just can't be! _

Nibs cried out as the spider-thing began to pull on the webbing, dragging the boy towards it. He swung gently from side to side, never realizing that he was being brought closer to the creature with every second. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the creature's attack and slowly, ever so slowly, beginning to cleanse his eyes.

Soon the blonde was hanging with his face mere inches from the spider baby's. And it was right about then that he could open his eyes without them hurting.

Nibs shrieked at the top of his lungs when he found himself so close to the enemy. The spider baby shrieked back at him, and Tinkerbell, from where she hung, could only remember what happened to her when _she_ screamed and wished Nibs hadn't opened his mouth.

The spider lunged forward and sunk its teeth into Nibs' neck. The boy screamed again, and the spider baby dug deeper. Poison exploded from between its lips, dripping down the blonde's neck and seeping into the bites and his clothes. Nibs continued to scream from new pain and terror, and in response the spider began savaging his neck and shoulder.

Listening to the Lost Boy's screams, Tinkerbell wanted to scream herself. She wouldn't wish harm on any of the boys; as jealous of them as she was at times, she couldn't bring herself to hate them. And as much as she tried to hide it from herself, she did care for them.

Now, with Nibs' screams echoing in her head and filling her with fear not only for herself but for him, Tink opened her mouth and began to scream herself, using what energy she had left to try and distract the creature.

The spider squealed again, yanking away from Nibs. The boy continued to yowl, tears running freely down his face. He could hear Tink screaming and it frightened him more.

Now the spider was in a predicament. Two screaming creatures and it could only bite one of them!

It squealed again, waving its arms frantically as it started towards Tink and then changed its mind and started towards Nibs again. It never reached either of them, so confused as to what it should do and not being able to decide. In a rage, it bounced madly in its place, swinging its head from side to side as it salivated.

Just as it was about to pick one of them to bite again, something whistled in the air. It struck so fast that the spider didn't know what happened until after the fact. And by then, it was pinned to the wall while pus and grisly innards dribbled down its own web to puddle atop the corpses below. Before it belched and died, it saw a spear jutting out from its belly.

It didn't live long enough to find out who threw it.


	8. Trolls in the Dark Part Four

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

Trolls in the Dark

4/4

Minutes ticked by. Hours passed. Still no sign of Peter, Nibs, or Slightly. Wendy could almost feel her throat constricting as terrible visions danced in her head, things she feared had happened to her boys. She had long ago stopped pacing and now sat in her rocking chair, eyes staring into the fire as she knotted her hands up in her skirt. Dimly, her mind registered she would have to do some laundry soon.

Michael was asleep in his basket, snoring lightly. As concerned as he was about the missing boys, he was still a child himself. And though he protested to stay awake, Wendy had insisted he at least take a nap. He agreed, but only when she swore to wake him when Peter and the others got back. He didn't want to miss the telling of an adventure.

John and Curly were curled up in bed, snoozing now and then. Neither wanted to sleep but both were tired, so they slipped in and out of dreams, waiting for Peter's return. The dark Twin sat on the floor, fiddling with a small contraption he and his brother had conjured up earlier on. The light Twin had gone to relieve himself while Tootles sat in a corner, daydreaming about foodstuffs he had nibbled on earlier that day.

No one really noticed when the light Twin returned, his face bearing an odd, vacant expression. Sensing his other half's return, the dark Twin looked up and smiled—though the smile faded quickly as he noted the odd look on his counterpart's face.

As the lighter of the Twins walked toward him—actually, stumbled probably would have been better to describe it—the dark boy felt a sense of fear. He couldn't feel his friend's thoughts as he usually could. For once, he didn't know ahead of time what the light Twin was going to say, or do. He stiffened as the boy stopped in front of him.

The boy swayed a little on his feet, staring down with blank eyes on his brother. A slow smile began to spread across his face—a smile that only served to frighten the dark boy instead of comfort him. As the lighter Twin reached out, laying his hand on the other's shoulder, the taller boy saw something horrible.

A black, pulsing, bulging THING was slipping down his brother's arm, leaving a trail of slug slime in its wake. It pooled down to the white Twin's hand, before lightly touching the darker boy.

The dark Twin only had the briefest of moments to shriek at the top of his lungs before his mind was coated in darkness, and he became a slave to the slugs.

Wendy shot up from her chair, dress whirling wide from her speed. Curly and John jerked into awareness, leaping into the air to shout queries. Michael started from his basket and began to wail.

The Twins turned, once again in sync with each other, and leapt upon Curly and John. They pinned the two boys to the wall, smiling blank smiles as the two Lost Boys shouted at them angrily.

"I say!" John snapped, trying to pry the white Twin's hands from his shoulders. "Just what is the meaning of—"

Curly screeched. Something black and ugly was crawling its way out from under the light Twin's shirt, and he saw it creeping towards John. The dark Twin grabbed Curly by the throat to shut him up, and smacked his head against the wall.

"Twins!" Wendy cried, rushing towards them to help her brother. She skidded to a stop as the slug that had been hiding in the white Twin's shirt shoved its pulsing, bloated body onto John's shoulder, effectively taking the boy captive. Her eyes darted to Curly to see another slug, which had somehow snuck in from one of the tree house's entrances, drop onto Curly's head with a sickening plop.

All four boys, now slaves, looked at her. Wendy gasped as they all began to smile blankly. From his place in the basket, Michael called,

"Wendy?"

"Get out of here, Michael!" Wendy cried out, right before the Lost Boys pounced upon her and pushed her to the ground.

"Wendy!" Michael squealed, lifting up from his bed to fly towards his sister. "Hey! Leave her alone!" John's hand lashed out, snatching Michael from the air. The boy shrieked. "John!"

It didn't take long before it was all over. For some reason Wendy was left with a free mind, though she was swiftly tied up with rope from around the house. She cried and protested to the boys, not being able to understand just what exactly was going on. The boys, however, gave no answer.

As she was dragged away, something began to nag at the back of her mind. Something was missing…

Lady Luck must have been in the Underground House that night, for Tootles, still in the corner, had seen the whole thing. But ahh, cautious Tootles hadn't stepped forward and of the children in the house that night, only he remained of free mind.

He didn't know whether he ought to feel ashamed or pleased with himself. As it was, when the tree house fell silent and not even a cricket chirped, Tootles fled, sobbing, into the night.

* * *

A loud snarl bounced through the clearing as bushes at the base of a small, stony hill rattled angrily. Chunks of twigs and leaves flew wildly about as a hulking figure burst out of a hidden crevice, waving its arms and throwing pieces of the poor shrubbery in all directions. It stomped and growled, head swinging heavily from side to side as it scanned the area.

"No enemy here," Honkers said, looking back towards the crevice. "Brother can come out now."

An ugly face peeped out of the darkness. Shankers stared around mistrustfully, his face a mask of woe. "Is brother sure?"

"Brother is positive," Honkers snapped back. "Stupid twin come here now! Must go quickly."

Shankers frowned. "If safe then why brother say hurry?"

"Because stupid twin do what brother says and brother says we must go now!" Honkers almost roared as he snapped his hand out and grabbed the scrawny troll's ear. He began dragging Shankers into the woods, unmindful of his brother's whines and yelps of pain as his ear was continually yanked upon.

They didn't get very far before a low growl rumbled from somewhere nearby. Honkers paused, canting his head to the side. His brow drew together and a scowl swept across his face as he turned to stare at Shankers, who was trying to wear an innocent look. The odd growl came again; Honkers scowled some more and Shankers looked apologetic.

"Sorry," Shankers said meekly. "Me hungry."

"Brother always hungry," Honkers retorted. "When was last twin ate?"

"Ate baby moose when sun went up," the smaller of the two said. He rubbed his stomach as it started growling again. "Am hungry again."

Honkers sighed. "Stupid twin spend all day in treasury, talking to self. Why stupid twin not come home for dinner? Would not be hungry now."

"Home?" Shankers' eyes began filling with tears. "Home gone now. Home gone…"

Realizing that at any second his brother was about to burst into loud, wailing sobs (and not wanting to draw the enemy's attention if he did), Honkers tugged on Shankers' ear again, albeit more gently. "Dumb twin hungry, so brother find dumb twin food. Come. Think about home later, after brother smash heads."

"Mumsy…" Shankers sniffed. "Mumsy make good food…"

"Well, stupid twin must deal with brother's cooking now." He began walking, then turned to look back. "Hurry up, if twin so damned hungry."

"Is!" Shankers said hotly as he followed Honkers. "What brother think he find? Spirit-sword say everything gone yucky."

"Spirit-sword…pah!" Honkers snorted derisively. "Brother and spirit-sword, should marry each other. Brother find something for stupid twin to eat. Have no faith in brother?"

"Have faith in brother," Shankers said quietly as they continued walking into the shadows of the woods. "Just not have faith in Neverland no more…"

Despite this lack of faith in the world around him, however, he put complete trust into his brother, whom he followed quickly so as not to lose him. Shankers had lost quite enough as it was, in his own simple-minded opinion.

Above them the skies continued to broil, around them the trees moaned softly, whispering to each other of dark things. Not an animal or bird was in sight and, for some reason the scrawny troll couldn't explain, he was rather glad for it. Though his belly growled for fresh food (preferably a large animal with a lot of meat or, even better, a human), the sense of foreboding he felt couldn't be ignored.

There had been many times in Shankers' life that he wished he wasn't a troll. That was part of the reason his year-mates shunned him. Growing up, Shankers had often imaged he was another type of creature; a bird that could fly, or a bear that could sleep all winter long. At one point he wished he were a tea-pot, though nobody had known why. He had once even imagined himself as a human, but when Honkers found out about that he had thumped Shankers over the head hard enough to knock him unconscious.

Even though at times Honkers mistreated his brother, Shankers felt he had his best interests at heart (though not in so many words). Though he didn't understand why it was such a bad thing to wish to be human, he trusted Honkers' judgement when he was snarled at not to tell anyone of this fancy. Honkers always did know more about what was good and bad for them than Shankers did, so the smaller of the two did as he was told until he forgot. Thankfully, though, he didn't forget that warning.

Something about the way Honkers had said, "Tell no one, brother! Stupid twin not know consequences!" had struck the moronic troll to the core. Something about it had felt almost dangerous. For years he tried to figure it out, and even though he didn't realize it, he had come upon the answer a number of times.

He was a troll. Trolls eat humans. And if Shankers were to have voiced his fancy to his brood, they would have set upon him in a fury, as differences weren't well accepted amongst the troll's species.

This was one of those times Shankers wished he and his brother were human. The tramping of their heavy feet seemed far too loud in the grimly woods, the heavy breaths his brother took seemed to echo, and he knew that their size would be a disadvantage if they were spotted by enemies. They couldn't hide behind a rock or a tree, or vanish into the mist like fairies.

So lost was the young troll in his thoughts (as senseless as they sometimes were), he didn't notice when Honkers abruptly stopped, and ended up slamming into his brother's back. He was surprised when Honkers didn't yell at him and smack him over the head; then he noticed his brother's stance. Shankers' ears pricked up.

Honkers stood tense, eyes widened and pupils dilated. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, and his ears wiggled about as he listened. Then one eye rolled in Shankers' direction, and a wicked smile played at Honkers' face.

"Brother hungry?" he whispered.

Shankers nodded.

"Then follow brother, quiet-like." And so saying, Honkers set off into the darkness.

Pausing only for the briefest of moments to wonder what his brother was after, Shankers quickly followed suit, padding as softly as possible through the underbrush and between trees. Soon he came to a clearing, and looking around, noticed Honkers' bulk hunched behind a tree. Shankers slipped close, poking his brother on the arm.

"What brother find?" he asked.

"Food," was Honkers' reply.

Frowning, Shankers looked in the direction his brother's eyes were locked on. He blinked in surprise.

A human, between six or eight years old, lay curled up against a rock, crying. He had a panda cap on his head and brown overalls. He looked awfully lonely.

"He not look like food to me," Shankers whispered, looking towards his brother. To his even greater surprise, Honkers was gone. The troll glanced around frantically for a moment, before he spotted Honkers moving towards the human boy. He squawked. "Brother! What doing?"

The human looked up just as Honkers' giant hand came down to scoop him up, and he let out a wailing cry as the huge troll turned to his brother, grinning triumphantly. "Food," he said simply.

The boy continued to cry. Shankers stared at him. "What is it?"

"It food," Honkers said, starting to get annoyed.

"It look like man-cub but has furry ears." Shankers scratched his head. The human continued to cry and the troll felt a strange twinge in his heart. "Why its face raining?"

Honkers scowled. "Who care? Brother eat!" and he thrust the boy towards his brother in an attempt to get Shankers to take it and eat it.

Shankers took the child, but didn't eat it. "Why you raining?" he asked.

The boy sniffled, looking up at the troll with tear-streaked cheeks and glistening eyes. "W-Wendy is gone!"

"Who W-Wendy?"

"Mother Wendy! Monsters came and…and they made my friends take her!" Trembling in Shankers' grasp, the boy, Tootles, felt his lip quivering. "Are…are you going to eat me?" he whispered.

Shankers' lip also began to quiver. "You…lost your Mumsy too?"

Tootles nodded sadly through his tears. "You…won't eat me, will you?"

Honkers had, by this point, had enough. "Stupid twin!" he snapped, causing Shankers to jump in surprise at the sudden harsh tone. "Brother find and get stupid twin food and stupid twin not eat it!"

Shankers whined. "It lost its Mumsy too…" His jaw stuck out firmly all of a sudden. "Not eat man-cub! NOT EAT IT!" And with that, he clutched Tootles protectively to his chest. "It lost its Mumsy! Me not eat! Me lost Mumsy!" Tears began filling his eyes again and Honkers had to restrain himself from punching his brother's lights out.

"Stupid, stupid twin!" Honkers said harshly, though he seemed a bit taken aback. He stomped his foot, then scowled. "Fine! Keep man-cub! It too shrimpy to eat anyway. Me not care!"

"Good!" Shankers snapped back, sniffling. "Me make man-cub troll brother! Me feed him and take good-good care of him!" In the troll's arms, Tootles could only stare up at Shankers in awe, not completely understanding what was going on.

"You aren't going to eat me?" he asked timidly.

"No, no," Shankers crooned. "Me make you ornerary troll brother! Troll not eat kin; man-cub now kin to brother Honkers and Shankers!"

"Honkers…Shankers?" Tootles looked from one troll to the other, blinking. Honkers was still scowling, his arms crossed. Shankers was grinning. "Those are your names?"

"Yes-yes!" said Shankers gleefully. "What your name?"

Tootles finally smiled a little. "My name is Tootles."

"PAH!" Honkers snorted. "Shit name for troll kin," he muttered. Then, looking more closely at Tootles, "Too damn small to be troll kin!"

"Me not littlest troll no more!" Shankers squealed. "Toot-less is Shankers littlest brother now!"

Staring at his brother as he danced (for lack of a better word) around and swinging Tootles into the air, Honkers felt a little put-out. Jealous, even. Here he was, the big strong brother, and his twin – who was supposed to be looking up to him and paying attention to him – was completely preoccupied with some little man-cub thing that had, through sheer luck or coincidence, managed to become a named troll kin.

But then, Honkers thought to himself as he watched his brother laugh and tickle this Toot-less creature, if it keeps him happy then who's to say naming it troll kin was such a bad thing?

* * *

Hook was beyond vexation at this point.

His pacing had come to naught, his roaring at the men had been no different, and the fact that Pan still hadn't awakened from a mysterious near-death slumber was causing him to fantasize about crawling up the walls in fury. Behind the thudding of his boots on hardwood, he could hear Smee wringing out another damp cloth to wipe Peter's forehead with, the man muttering small assurances to the unconscious youth as though Pan could hear him.

For all Hook knew, the boy could. But being the brat he was, he may very well be ignoring Smee and playing some stupid dream-game in his head. That thought made Hook growl, inwardly and outwardly.

"Smee!" he shouted. "Has that infernal hellion still not awakened?"

Smee looked up from where Peter lay on Hook's bed – something else the captain really wasn't pleased about – and shook his head. "Nay, Cap'n Hook sir, he's out as a broken lantern e' is."

"What in the name of the Bard is going on?" Hook snarled, mostly to himself. The skies had calmed a bit since they brought Pan into his cabin, but the seas hadn't. The mermaids that had survived the Croc's earlier attack now swam in vulture-esque circles around the ship, gnashing their teeth and cat-calling the crew to come down for a bite to eat. Several of them had even tried climbing up the Jolly Roger's sides, but had quickly been beaten down with spears and – thanks to Mason's ingenious idea – dumping the remnants of the previous night's dinner upon their heads, effectively taking them out.

The men themselves were growing uneasy with every second that ticked by. Hook could hear them muttering to themselves about dark times and evil – well, Mullins was and half the men had to agree with him, considering the circumstances – as they sharpened their swords and waited for the next bit of excitement. He also heard talk of his gunner, Bill Jukes, and Hook himself had to agree that he was concerned for the fate of the boy.

Not because he liked him, per se, but the lad was a fine gunner – if a bit over the top head-wise – and he would hate to lose a valuable crew member.

Of all of them, Smee was the only one who remained calm. The eye of a storm was Smee, who continued to see to Pan's well-being and remaining as blissfully ignorant of everything else as he could. Which wasn't really all that hard, Hook thought with a snort. This was Smee he was talking about.

Smee's calm demeanor and patience were the only things keeping Hook from snapping at this point. If the bosun – a stupid, bumbling fool – could be calm and unaffected at times like this, then why couldn't he, James Hook, do the same? He could, but seeing Pan lying there in his bed, dead to the world and vulnerable, was making his hook itch something fierce. But to kill the boy like that wasn't really his plan. He wanted to kill the boy in a duel, one on one, when they were both at their best. And now was not the time.

"Cap'n, sir," Smee said suddenly, quietly. "Th' lad's wakin' up."

Hook's eyes widened, and then narrowed maliciously. Swift as a cat the captain was at Smee's side, staring down at Peter as the youth's eyes fluttered briefly, and his lips moved.

"Pan," Hook growled. "Wake up."

Peter moaned softly, his brow creasing as he struggled to open his eyes. His fingers twitched a bit, and beneath dark eyelashes both pirates could see a dark shade of red where white ought to have been. Hook frowned.

"Pan!" he repeated, more harshly. "Open your eyes, you lily-livered backwater scum infestation! Open those blasted orbs before I cut them out of you and use them as bullets!"

"Cap'n Hook sir," Smee said cautiously. "I think there be somethin wrong w' the lad's eyeballies." And so saying, his thumb and forefinger pried open one of Peter's eyelids.

Hook stared in shock as he was met with the sight of exploded veins and crusted blood. Where once was white, was now a deep, ugly red. Splotches of broken vessels dotted the boy's eyes as a fat droplet of crimson liquid squeezed out and dribbled slowly down his face.

"Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs!" Hook hissed.

"C-Codfish?" Peter's lips moved, crusted blood snapping and falling away. "…you?" His body shifted a bit and he moaned softly in pain. Smee took his fingers from the boy's eye as the lids quivered and opened, one eye a mirror of the other – busted, bloody and blind.

"Yes, it is I, Pan," Hook replied after a moment. He seemed stuck for words as he stared down at his worst enemy, unsure of what to make of this.

"Wh'm I doin 'ere?" Peter slurred as Hook's voice registered in his mind – about ten seconds after he had spoken.

"Ach, he's soundin a bit Irish ta me, 'e'll be fine." Smee said brightly. Hook resisted the urge to smack him.

"You fell from the sky several hours ago, Pan," Hook said, realizing Peter's injuries had robbed him of recent memory. "Smee has been in charge of your recovery."

"Fell…?" Peter blinked again, his brow creasing further. "'Fish?"

Hook scowled at the name. "What, Pan?"

"I can't see…"

"Well, a'seein' that yer eyes are all full o' blood, lad, 'tis no wonder!" Smee said, wringing out another cloth and wiping Peter's face with it. The boy jerked back, hissing.

"Wha…!"

"The blood vessels in your eyes seem to have exploded and left quite a mess, Pan," Hook said, glaring at Smee. "However, it may look worse than it already is. Smee?"

"Aye, Cap'n Hook sir," the bosun said cheerfully. "'Tis nothin that can nay be fixed with some time an' healin. Just keeping yer eyes clear of dirt and dust bunnies, laddie, and ye should fix up again soon." He wiped Peter's face with the cloth, clearing away some more dirt and fresh blood that fell like tears down his cheeks. "Or ye can get yer pixie friend ta cast one o' them spells she's got and fix ya sooner n' that." He glanced up at Hook. "When d'ye think the Lost Boy an the pixie are gonna show up, Cap'n?"

"It had better be soon, Smee," Hook retorted. "My patience is running thin and I gave that brat ample warning."

Peter began to tremble ever so slightly. "Where…where did he go?"

Smee blinked. "Who now, laddie?"

"Him."

Hook's eyes narrowed. "What cozening is this? Pan, what in the blazes are you talking about?"

"Him," Peter repeated, his voice lowering to a hiss. "The monster."

"What monster, boy?" Hook pressed.

"The one that's killing Neverland…the one that's killing _me_."


	9. Metamorphosis Part One

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

Metamorphosis

1/4

He was home.

That was the first thing Slightly realized when his eyes cracked open and he got a look at his surroundings. He could smell something good cooking, mixed with his mother's perfume and his dad's cigars. The smell of love, the feel of warmth from the fire, and security was here. He couldn't believe he had forgotten it. His head felt a bit fuzzy, though, and he didn't know why. Not that he cared though, either.

He was home.

There was only one thing that seemed wrong with the scenario.

Everything was upside down. Couches, end tables, everything was sitting on what he knew was, at one point, the ceiling in his old house. Or thought was the ceiling. He was standing on the ceiling now, he noticed with dulled amazement as he looked down to see the spiraling pattern of plaster that had once been over his head every night when he went to sleep. Miraculously, everything else was on the floor – or, depending on your point of view, everything was on the ceiling.

Steam rose from the kettle's nose to float around him like some weird misty halo as he heard the door open and then shut, footsteps thudding towards the living room archway. Slightly blinked as his father walked into the room above him, but the boy couldn't see the man's face – just the top of his head.

"Wrong, all wrong," his father muttered, shaking his head. Then he shouted, "Deborah! Rats are eating the wallpaper and the dog's out of the oven!"

At that moment he looked up, and Slightly's eyes widened when he saw the gaping hole in the left side of his father's face. Bits and chunks of rotted flesh jiggled and danced as he canted his head to the side, staring directly at the boy.

"I say," the man muttered, "the eye is leaking again!"

Slightly looked up and squeaked as the giant eye that hadn't been there before blinked slowly at him, droplets of blood falling with every twitch of its muscles. The one eyebrow it sported drew in and it seemed to glare at the boy, before blinking again. A low moan emanated throughout the room as the eye rolled around and more blood bulged in its corners.

The blonde jumped back with a tiny, choked screech and found himself falling. He screeched again as glass shattered around him and he hit the ground with a rather painful thud. His eyes darted from left to right, his mouth opening and closing as everything was misplaced again. Instead of on the ceiling, the furniture was on the walls, and his father – dancing chunks of flesh and all – had moved to sit on the couch, lighting a cigar as he leaned back to relax, enjoying the flame of the monkey's paw that sat on the table beside him.

At that point his mother decided to enter the room. "Thomas, you know that cigar irritates the eye!" she scolded, while Thomas shrugged amiably. Then she turned to Slightly and smiled. "Honey, the cat's out of the bag."

A bag abruptly appeared in her arms, and to the boy's surprise, Mungojerrie leapt out of it as she held it out to show him. His father grunted. "Fairies, boy," he said, looking up with his remaining eye. "They're not real."

Slightly could only stare in shock as Mungojerrie padded over to him and began to rub himself against the blonde's legs, purring like a motor. Frowning in confusion, Slightly bent down to pick the cat up, stroking his head gently. When he glanced up again, his father was gone but his mother was still there, smiling at him. All that remained of Thomas was a dent in the couch, stained with black, ancient blood.

"Daddy had to go see the eye doctor," Deborah told the boy. "He keeps getting funny itches in his left eye."

"It's the cigars, isn't it?" Mungojerrie asked Deborah. She nodded.

"Terrible things," she replied. "They'll suck the magic right out of you."

Slightly chewed his lip. "Umm…what's going on?"

"The cat's out of the bag, honey," Deborah said matter-of-factly. "The cigar is making the eye bleed. I can't fix it, and neither can Daddy."

The boy made a face. "Does it have to be fixed? It's slightly just an eye."

"It's not _just_ an eye," Mungojerrie said.

"It's a _special_ eye," said Deborah.

"And we can't fix it!" they both said as one.

Slightly blinked. "What am I supposed to do about it?" he demanded sourly.

"You have to fix it," Deborah said.

"So it stops bleeding for a while," Mungojerrie added.

"Butt out the cigar and air out the house!" Deborah chimed. "Can't you smell it?"

And he did.

Sniffing delicately, Slightly could smell the acrid odour of smoke and cheap cigars. He made a face. "That's slightly gross," he told them.

"Yes, it is," the cat said, rubbing his head against the boy's shoulder.

"That's why you have to air out the house," Deborah said, suddenly sad. "If you don't, it will get worse and the eye will rot."

"And we just _can't_ have _that_." Mungojerrie mewed.

"Well…where's the window?" Slightly looked around again and received another shock – everything was gone. The furniture, lamps, everything – vanished without a trace. He blinked, eyes widening. "Hey, what happened to—"

When he looked back, Deborah's face had gone deathly pale. Her hands were thin, her face gaunt. Her dress seemed to swallow her whole and the boy hissed, taking a step back as images of his mother on her death bed swept across his mind.

"Sweetheart, the cat's out of the bag," she said, her voice growing shaky, thinning to mimic the state her body had become. "The eye is bleeding, and it's all wrong. You have to air out the house before it's too late."

Above him, the eye moaned again, squinting as though it were trying to get a better look at him. Slightly gasped and took a step back, narrowly dodging a fat drop of blood as it fell to the ground and splattered.

"The basement is full of rats, they're eating the wallpaper," Deborah whispered. "And it's so pretty, too…you always liked it."

"M-Mama?" Slightly whispered, clutching Mungojerrie tightly to his chest. "Mama, what's going on?"

"Don't listen to Daddy, baby," his mother said, her voice fading as she took a step back into the hallway, which had become frighteningly dark. "Fairies are real."

"I slightly know that, Mama," Slightly said, his voice taking on a pleading note. "But what are you talking about? The wallpaper…rats?"

"It was so pretty…" Deborah sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "You always liked it."

"I slightly don't understand!" Slightly cried as more drops of blood fell from the eye like rain. Dimly, he noticed that the blood was sizzling and eating through the floor. "What wallpaper, what rats? Mama!"

Foam bubbled at the corners of Deborah's lips. She smiled weakly as the veins in her face and arms began to throb visibly. "Open the windows, baby," she whispered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Slightly saw a window. He gasped, turning to look fully at it as Deborah vanished into the shadows behind her. Dropping Mungojerrie to the ground, he dashed over to it and began to yank on it in an attempt to pry it open. However, it was stubborn – stuck. Slightly yelled in anger, suddenly consumed with the need to open it and let a fresh breeze in. The scent of cigars became nearly overpowering and the eye began to scream.

"Come on!" Slightly shouted, pounding on the window furiously. "Open!"

"Child, you had better hurry," Mungojerrie said, winding himself between the boy's legs, rubbing against his ankles. "Time's running out, the eye is bleeding."

"I slightly know it is!" the blonde cried, glancing back to see great, gaping holes in the ground where acidic tears had melted through. Black fog rose from the holes, slowly creeping towards him. "But the window – it's slightly stuck!"

"You can do it, Slightly," Mungojerrie said, sitting down and starting to clean his paws. He only paused once to give the boy a once-over. "I know you can do it. Open the window."

Grunting, Slightly threw himself against it, digging his fingers beneath the frame and pulling up as hard as he could. Dust fell atop his head as rusty hinges screeched, and the screaming of the eye filled the room. Slowly, ever so slowly, the window began to give. Crying out in triumph, Slightly slipped his fingers beneath it and hauled up.

The window flew open with a shriek, and Slightly fell back with a yelp as a blast of warm air exploded through the frame. The eye screamed again, once more, as everything in the room was suddenly sucked through the window and into a vortex of light and wind.

Everything in the room including Slightly, who didn't go without a terrible cry of terror.

* * *

A glass flew across the room to shatter against the wall. Shrieks of fury followed, along with a coughing fit that could sicken even the most stoic of nurses. Abura watched impassively as his master bent over, hacking up what sounded like a lung. Amber eyes didn't blink once as Saxon choked out cuss words that would make any sailor blush.

"DAMN!" Saxon slammed one knotted, ugly fist down upon the armrest of his chair, eyes flashing with rage. "How can – what was – ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!" His scream sent bugs and creepy crawlers running, dust falling from the ceiling in showers.

It was right about then that Abura decided to step in as Saxon's loyal servant. "What trouble you, master?" he hissed.

"Pan," Saxon spat. "I have found the Weave, I have accessed his deepest core, and still there are wards that protect him!" He spat again, saliva dribbling down from the corner of his mouth. Abura scowled, but took a tissue and wiped it away.

"Wards?" the fairy growled. "What sort of wards?"

"Wards that thwart me," the cripple hissed viciously, eyes gleaming. "Did you not smell it, Aburakadabura?" Abura shook his head, growling inwardly at the use of his full name. "The scent of cigars, pet, the scent…of…CIGARS!" He snarled again and more spit dripped down his chin. Abura didn't even bother trying to clean it up this time. "Father used to smoke them," the cripple growled. "How I hated them. _Hated_ them, do you hear me, Pan!" He roared again but then, exhausted, fell back into his chair.

"Master?"

"It seems that Pan is still a force to be reckoned with," Saxon muttered sourly. "He escaped my clutches, but not for long. For now…" His eyes snapped to Abura, narrowing savagely. "For now, I want you to find this ward. Discover the source of it, and destroy it. Nothing must come between Pan and I again, do you understand?"

Abura bowed deeply. "Yes, Master."

"Go then, slave. And do not bother me again until you find the source, or I call you."

The fairy's eyebrow twitched. "Yes, _Master_."

Abura left with a puff of black magic, and the instant he was out of Saxon's sight a feral grin crossed his face and a nasty gleam entered his eyes. "Da! No need to worry, Master Saxon," he hissed to himself. Then he began to hum. "I will find de ward. I will search de high road and you will search de low road, and I'll find de ward long afore ya." He cackled lightly, tugging on a long string of hair.

"Ai! What fun dis shall be!" He flapped his wings and danced in mid-air briefly. "Da! _Steeeeeupid_ boy, tinking he can trust me!" He smirked darkly.

"Eet will be de end of him, very soon. Ai!"

* * *

Nibs fought the pounding in his head as he was carried into the darkness of the forest on the shoulders of his odd saviour, who had plucked him from the spider's web and scaled the crevice's walls with what seemed to be complete ease. His head bobbed as the creature – he had only seen a dark shape looming over him and was unable to identify its species – ran through the trees, breathing lightly as what sounded like paws thumped lightly against the wet earth.

His neck and shoulder ached from where the spider baby had bitten him, and a strange numb feeling was beginning to spread around the areas. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, echoing the pain in his head, and he wished he could fade into the oblivion of unconsciousness. Unfortunately, that wasn't to be as he felt his saviour slow down to a trot, then a light trot, until they finally stopped.

Before he had a chance to mumble anything he was practically flung to the ground, and something was sniffing him from head to toe. Nibs groaned, raising a hand to shield his face as hot breath came just a little too close for his liking. The sniffing stopped and a low – and rather irritated – growl emitted from the throat of the creature.

"I'm checking you for injuries," a female voice snapped. "You'd do well to drop your damn hand and let me finish!"

"Who're you?" Nibs muttered, lowering his hand a bit.

The shadow came forward and sniffed his face; he flinched back. It continued until it reached his neck and shoulder, where a low snort and a cuss word was heard. "Damn," the voice said. "That spider thing got you good, didn't it?"

Nibs scowled, his eyes slowly beginning to clear. "I guess so…but who—" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he got a good look at the person – or creature, as it turned out – who had saved him. He wasn't sure whether to be shocked, horrified, or scared out of his wits at the sight of a werewolf standing before him, fang-filled face mere inches from his own.

Slate-gray eyes peered at him from a lightly furred face framed by long, equally gray hair. Nibs glanced down to the rest of the creature, then averted his eyes quickly – quite obviously female, as the drooping cloth that made her shirt told him. A thick tail swished behind her and her ears flicked back.

"Is there a problem with the way I look?" she growled hotly, stepping back and staring at the boy with cold eyes.

"No…? I mean…" He shook his head, trying to clear the cotton that didn't want to go away. He was so tired… "I've just never—"

"Seen a werewolf before," she inserted. "I know. There's not many of us left, so it doesn't surprise me." Her eyes narrowed. "I don't socialize with humans much, either, so I can't blame you for being freaked out by me."

"I'm not freaked out," Nibs retorted.

She snorted again. "Oh, that's a load. Humans freak out over everything. If you're scared, just admit it. It wouldn't surprise me."

"I'm not scared!" said Nibs, anger flaring up. The anger quickly faded, however, when a wave of nausea washed over him and he had to lean back, propping himself up on his palms. "Whoa…"

"What's wrong, human?" she asked, a little snidely. "Can't handle the stress?"

"No…I don't feel so good…" Nibs bit his lip, trying to fight the urge that was growing stronger at every moment. He closed his eyes and shivered.

"Hey, human? You okay?"

Nibs gagged suddenly. He began to cough, and then hack. The werewolf swore again and knelt down, pounding on his back while everything that was in his stomach surged up and landed in a puddle on the ground before him. He heard a voice mutter, "Ew…" softly, and then he was done. Nibs sat there, gasping for breath and trying to stop his head from spinning while the werewolf muttered to herself.

"Human, you're pretty fucked." She stated after a long moment of silence – and after Nibs had sat back to lean against a tree. He scowled at her.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you're fucked – not literally, of course. You wouldn't be a virgin if you were." Nibs stared blankly at her; she sighed. "Okay, I'm gonna make it easy for your human brain to comprehend. The spider bit you." He nodded. "Some spiders have venom." He nodded again. "Venom kills." Another nod. "That spider had a lot of venom." Nibs nodded more slowly. "And it bit you." Nibs froze mid-nod. The werewolf snorted. "I see you catch my drift."

"Am I going to die?" Nibs asked, his eyes widening.

"Er…I really don't know – or care! Thing is, human, at the moment I'm stuck with you. Frankly, I really don't want you going all dead on me – not because I don't want you to, mind you, but because you're one of Pan's kids." She bristled a bit. "Well you don't have to look at me like that! I don't have two heads you know!"

Another wave of nausea washed over the boy and he groaned. "So what am I supposed to do? Is there a medicine or a cure or something?"

The werewolf frowned. "I have no idea. I wasn't really expecting this to happen so I didn't bring my freakin' 'Book of Amazing Cures' with me!" She sounded sarcastic enough to cause a dark frown to spawn on Nibs's face. "But…" She paused, running a tongue across her lips. "I've been around long enough to have heard some stories. Generally, with spells of some sort – I guess, I don't know for sure since I heard it second-hand – to cancel out one spell you can use another. It may be the same with spider venom."

"What are you talking about?" Nibs snapped, getting irritated.

The werewolf bristled again. "Are you stupid or something? What I mean is that maybe if we inject another type of venom into your body – not as deadly but just as powerful as spider-man's – then that might cancel out its poison. If the new venom is powerful enough, it could completely null the other crap that's in your bloodstream." She huffed darkly. "The spider bit you so we need something else to bite you."

"I don't like the sound of that," Nibs told her honestly. "I think I've been bitten enough in one night." His stomach burbled unhappily and he winced. She smirked.

"Not like you have much of a choice, human," she commented snidely. "It's my idea or death – or my idea and die anyway if it doesn't work. Which means I go out and rip off the head of the person who told me that bull. Whichever way we go, you are pretty damn screwed. For a virgin."

Nibs scowled at her. She scowled back. "Stuck between a rock and a hard place," Nibs mumbled, mostly to himself. Dimly, he realized it was something Wendy often said – though no one had quite known what she meant. He hadn't, up until now.

"So, human? You want to try it and maybe live, or maybe die, or not try it and die a painful, agonizing death? I'll take the dead fairy's corpses as enough evidence to say that they didn't go quietly. Or peacefully, for that matter. Besides, I got a load of that spider thing – man, was he ugly."

The boy sighed. "Fine…I guess I'll try it." She began to grin – exposing every single one of her sharp, white fangs – but froze when he said "But."

"But what?" she snapped. "It's not like we've got a lot of time left, you know. Your face is starting to turn a weird colour."

And indeed it was. An ugly shade of gray, to be exact. Nibs frowned, feeling tremors running through his body as a strange cold feeling settled over him. He licked his lips. "I want to know your name first."

The werewolf jumped a bit, then frowned. "What's it to you?"

"I just want to know. If we're 'stuck' together then I don't want to call you "Hey You!"."

She grumbled. "You have a point, human."

Nibs smiled a little, starting to feel sick again. "My name is Nibs."

"Call me…Icky." She lashed her tail irritably, wrinkling her nose. "Look, okay, so now we know each other. Big deal. What say we get this over with?"

Nibs sighed, shuddering a bit as the cold feeling in his body began to spread, tightening its grip on him. "All right…what do I have to do?"

Icky's lips curled up, showing her teeth again. "Just hold still, Nibs. That's all you gotta do." Her voice had turned sweet, for some reason, and she looked like a mix between disgusted and pleased.

Nibs blinked, confused. Also, he was wary of the mixed emotions he saw dancing across Icky's face. They made him fairly uneasy. And her teeth freaked him out. "But don't we need something to bite me? What are you gonna do?"

Icky shifted her weight to the side, crouching down low. Her hackles spiked up and ears flattened back flat against her head. Slowly, her lips peeled away from terrible white fangs in a pink mouth. What sounded like a mix of giggles and growls emitted from her throat.

"I'm going to take a bite out of you, kid. I've always wondered if humans really _do_ taste like chicken."

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, after all this time I am posting again. I do intend to continue this story; it might just take a while. There are a few more chapters coming up, but I may not post until I finish the next chapter I had initially planned. Yeah... confusing. Woo. Hope you guys are enjoying it (and special thanks to the one reviewer who saved this to their favourites; because of you, my butt is now moving again on this. lol)


	10. Metamorphosis Part Two

Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel

**Part Three: Metamorphosis**

2/4

For all his cockiness and gusto, his seemingly unwavering fear of death, Pan was still just a child. Though he defied Hook at every opportunity - more often than not winning each time - and laughed in the face of adversity, Peter Pan was still only a little boy, with a little boy's terrors. The slight trembling of his bottom lip and the way his fingers knotted amidst the sheets of the bed showed Hook quite plainly what Pan was. Not that it softened his desire to kill him, oh, no. Quite the contrary - he was enjoying the boy's pain immensely.

Watching Pan squirm and blink furiously in an effort to somehow force his eyes to work was a meal fit for a king, in Hook's mind. He licked his lips, tasting the sweet juice of power that he now held in his remaining hand. He could practically feel his hook singing, as though it sensed his enemy was near. But in one last effort to remain a gentleman - and grudgingly agreeing with Starkey - he rested his hand behind his back as he walked about the bed, letting Peter hear his footsteps and making him wonder what he, Hook, was up to.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm," Hook muttered, a smile showing plainly in the tone of voice he chose to use on the youth. He felt more than saw Peter bristle. "It seems, boy, that we have quite a predicament on our hands. You are blind and completely at my mercy, and yet you seem to know something I do not. Perhaps a deal is in order here - I will refrain from killing you, if you tell me exactly what you saw when you were taking your little cat nap."

Peter scowled darkly, his hands curling into fists. "I am at no one's mercy, Codfish!" he snapped, though the words lacked his usually energy and defiance. He grit his teeth and allowed his scowl to darken, searching with blind eyes to find where Hook was and failing by at least two or three feet. "I can beat you blindfolded anyway, so don't think this is any different!"

Hook resisted the urge to cackle in glee. "Ah, but it is different, boy!" He leaned down suddenly, resting his hand - and hook - on the bed next to Peter. The sudden drop of the mattress caused the boy to hiss in surprise and focus an unseeing gaze towards Hook. The man smirked. "It is different. You are helpless as a kitten, lost in my cabin with no way out and no aid coming to you. All that stands between you and oblivion is I, Captain James Hook. You should be grateful to me for allowing you to live."

"The only thing that stands between you and oblivion is my generosity," Peter growled darkly, albeit weakly. "I could have killed you a long time ago, Admiral Anchovy. If anyone should be grateful for letting anyone live, it should be you!"

Hook's eyebrow twitched viciously. His lip curled back into a terrible sneer, and in moments he had Peter's shirt gripped in his fist and was dragging the boy out of the cabin and onto the deck. The boy had barely any time to cry out in surprise before he was tossed into the air, landing with an agonizing thud on the hardwood. He cried out in pain and shock, immediately curling up into a ball to push away the pain.

"Get up, brat!" Hook roared from the doorway. The rest of the crew turned to watch in amazement as Peter groaned, drawing his brow together as he fought to keep his head from spinning off into unconsciousness again. "This is a lesson you seem to be determined to learn the hard way. Get up, show me how independent you are. Or," he sneered again. "How dependent you are!"

"I depend on no one," Peter hissed, fighting the pain in his body to get to his feet and prove to Hook that he didn't need any help, and that nothing had changed. His shoulder throbbed from where he had landed on it, his stomach roiled angrily and he felt a terrible soreness in his throat that made it difficult to speak loudly. Somehow, he managed to stagger to his feet without any help. From there, however, he seemed at a loss for what to do.

"What's wrong with you, Pan?" Hook asked snidely, putting one hand on his hip to glare at the child. "Can you not fly? Can you not fight? Can you not crow? Can you not even walk, you insufferable scumdog?"

Peter snarled, and took a step. The ship dipped as a wave rolled beneath it, and he nearly lost his balance in the aftermath. Somewhere beyond the wind, he heard Hook laugh cruelly.

"Where has your glory gone, Pan?" he called out. "Where is your power? You cannot mean to tell me that my greatest enemy is but a weakling babe!" Though Peter couldn't see him, he got the impression that Hook was addressing the heavens. The man's words cut through him, and he took another step, and another. To his horror he could feel his legs wobbling with fatigue, barely holding him up.

_I can't let him see me weak,_ Peter thought vehemently. _I...just can't!_

"Where has Pan gone?" Hook cried mockingly. "Where oh where has that wretched, filthy little brat who has plagued me day and night, awake or asleep, gone? He cannot be that mangy dog, stumbling blindly across the deck before me! No, the Pan I knew was quick, capable, and retained all of his senses!"

The ship bobbed on another wave and Peter stumbled again, falling against the ship's rail and grabbing onto it instinctively. He gasped, trying to calm his heart as the terror of being unable to see his course and the horrible sense of foreboding he felt as his legs began to crumble beneath him overwhelmed his mind. But it was Hook's voice, his words that set his heart afire, enraged him enough to keep trying.

He pushed away from the rail and spun, ready to face Hook and challenge him, when the ship was suddenly shoved violently to the side. Peter cried out, his eyes widening as the abrupt motion caused his feet to slip out from beneath him, and he crumpled to the deck.

Realizing a few moments later what had happened, Peter felt something deep within his chest constrict painfully. Tears began to burn at his eyes, mixing with blood to stream pink tears down his cheeks as he began to cry softly. His hands flew to his face, and slowly, his shoulders began to shake. The rest of his body followed as he gave in to the sobs, unable to stop himself once he got started.

So busy was he, crying hysterically into his palms, that he didn't hear Hook's boots thudding against the wood. Only when the man's voice spoke directly above him did he freeze, but not once did he remove his hands from his face.

"Pan," Hook said almost kindly. "It seems you now realize your situation." Peter stiffened as arms wrapped around him and he was lifted up, his head falling against a powerful chest. "Back to the cabin, boy," Hook said. "There is much we have to discuss."

"I don't wanna talk to you," Peter mumbled into his palms. "Just leave me alone! You've had your fun."

Smee held the door to the cabin open and Hook stepped inside, scowling down at the boy as he moved to place him back on the bed. "On the contrary, Pan. I have not had my fun yet." He pulled the covers up over the boy's body, frowning. Smee brought a chair to him and he nodded to the bosun. "And I wish to speak with you about what occurred earlier."

"I said I don't wanna talk about it," Peter hissed miserably.

"You have no choice, boy," Hook snapped. "My gunner has gone overboard, my ship is nearly destroyed by deranged mermaids and weather, and I want answers. You spoke in your sleep, and when you awakened you talked of a monster. Just what in blazes is happening?"

Peter began to sob again, shivering. "M'head hurts, Captain," he whispered. "Please, just go away."

Hook's eyes narrowed. "Smee?" he called softly.

"Aye, Cap'n Hook sir?"

"Fetch the brat some rum," Hook told the bosun. "It seems we may have to loosen his tongue and clear his head before I get the answers I want."

"Rum, sir?" Smee questioned. "Yer best or yer worst?" He paused a moment. "And if ye don't mind me askin' it, Cap'n sir, how tipsy are ye plannin' on getting' th' lad?"

"Not very, Smee," Hook growled. "Only enough to make him talk. And I want the best of my rum. I would like to partake of it as well."

Smee nodded. "Aye-aye, Cap'n!"

* * *

Tootles yawned, rubbing his eyes blearily. It seemed like hours and hours had passed since he had fled into the woods, after Wendy and the Lost Boys had been attacked by the slugs. By this point he had stopped crying, but now he was depressed. Wasn't there something he could have done? Anything at all? Those kind of thoughts had plagued him endlessly while he sobbed, alone, and though he hated to admit it he knew there was nothing he could have done. He was too small, wasn't as clever as Nibs or Peter or as strong as any of the boys.

How he hated himself sometimes.

Now, though, in the company of two large - and quite freaky-looking - trolls, the boy at least felt safe. After the initial fear of being eaten had passed, he relaxed into their company as easily as a boy his age could. Not that it was very hard - Shankers's mind seemed to be permanently stuck at the level of a grade one retard. He was more immature than Curly was, and to Tootles that said quite a bit.

Had the circumstances been normal, the boy would have thought that he was having quite an adventure. There he was, riding on the shoulder of a troll through the darkness as the trees seemed to press in on them, reaching out as though they wanted to pluck him from safety and eat him alive. Peter, Nibs and Slightly were missing, while Wendy and the others had been captured. Tootles thought sadly that Peter must be having a grand old time.

A gentle mist had arisen and he could see the troll named Honkers thundering through the underbrush ahead of him. He watched, fascinated, as Honkers paused every so often, looked around, growled something nasty to himself, and then plunged onward. The boy couldn't figure out why the cranky troll kept looking back at him and giving him dirty looks - he thought it was maybe because Shankers was jabbering on about something that made no sense to the boy. Actually, now that Tootles thought about it, he didn't think whatever it was the troll was talking about made any sense to anyone but himself.

A quiet boy by nature, Tootles had unconsciously made it a point in his life to sit back and watch others interact. Though he didn't realize it, he had come to a conclusion about the two trolls and their personalities.

Honkers always seemed to be cranky and miserable due to Shankers's continuous idiocy and random thought process. It seemed to Tootles that the larger troll had made it his duty to protect and guard Shankers from whatever threat happened to arise. And, judging from the scrawny troll's constant whimpering about "Mumsy", that duty had been laid upon Honkers by their mother - against his own, personal wants. He didn't know how many times Honkers had yelled for his brother to shut the hell up, but Tootles could tell that he wasn't the only one who knew that danger was still lurking around every corner. Shankers, on the other hand, was quite oblivious.

As though to prove it, Shankers began to sing a weird little troll ditty that had abruptly popped into his miniscule brain. Catching Tootles's attention, he paused only to explain that the ditty was a part of troll life and he wanted to teach it to the boy because he was now troll-kin.

Honkers, meanwhile, was starting to get even more irritated with his brother than usual. Didn't Shankers know that danger was still afoot? Why the hell was he singing at a time like this? After all they had been through that night, couldn't the idiot get a clue?

_Brother never get clue,_ Honkers thought sourly as he tore a branch off a tree and tossed it away. His fist clenched. _Brother never know what good or bad for him. Brother always has to save stupid twin's ass from trouble!_

The situation they were currently in vaguely reminded him of when he and Shankers had been troll youths. Just a few years out of the cave-home, young and impressionable, and the first day of class Shankers had made enemies.

Trolls weren't entirely unlike humans in that they, too, attended school. Only their classes were held outside and they were taught to fight, how to crush each other's skulls with one blow, how to hunt, and other ways of troll life. It was actually pretty violent, now that Honkers thought about it. Not that he minded. He liked to hurt things.

When he and his brother had their first class with an instructor named Krunch, Shankers had immediately been thrown into the lowest part of the young one's social circle. It wasn't that he did anything wrong, per se - he had just been small. And their year group had leapt upon that misfortune like vultures after a corpse. In a troll community, any troll that was smaller, weaker, or lacked something all the others had, it was seen as a terrible, terrible shame - and they were immediately outcast. The only reason those trolls weren't killed was because Honkers's community was large enough to ignore his faults - had they been starting their city, he would have been killed on sight. Only strong trolls could make a strong domain, and Shankers didn't fit the bill.

It helped that Honkers and his family had lived on the outskirts of the troll city. It made it a lot easier for them to hide Shankers from the public eye - the only time he really had to go out was when they had class. What the other trolls didn't see couldn't make them mad, as their Mumsy had always used to say.

She had been quite a lass, Honkers thought with a small, almost imperceptible smile. Strong, like any troll man wanted. Quite popular when she was young. Tough as the stone their home was made of, and willing to smash the heads of any who dared to approach her young. She guarded Shankers like he was some sort of precious gem, demanding that Honkers look out for his twin when she wasn't around to save their hides.

It was she who laid the duty on him, Honkers remembered with a slight scowl. Protect his brother from everything, make sure he didn't get himself killed or into trouble. It was love talking - a weird, rough sort of love, as trolls actually sucked at expressing it - and Honkers knew it. It was also, partly, love that kept him performing that duty. Oh, how he despised Shankers sometimes, but they were blood-kin. Blood-kin would die for each other. It was the blood that called him to guard his brother.

Not to say he wouldn't knock Shankers unconscious at any given opportunity. As it was, he really wanted to do that right now as he listened to his brother sing that little ditty.

"Me bugger the lass 'n chow on meat

Me take the meat that no be beat

Me bugger the lass 'n stomp on head

Me bugger the lass 'n drink me mead

Me hunt fat deer 'n moose so big

Me bugger the lass 'n make her pig

Me take the scunge 'n push it deep

Me bugger the lass in her sleep

Me want big clan to make me proudy

Me want big lass who make me rowdy

Me want me cave be strong and low

Me want big clan me strength to show

Me bugger the lass one time three

Me bugger the lass 'n happy me be!"

Tootles giggled. "That's funny," he said, smiling. "But what does 'bugger the lass' mean?"

Before Shankers could reply Honkers stepped in. "Toot-less not big enough troll yet to know _that_," he snapped harshly, glaring at his twin balefully. "Brother wait for Toot-less to get bigger." He raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Shankers, who blushed furiously and nodded.

"Me wait," he said, then grinned at Tootles. "Me tell you later," he whispered, winking at the boy, who giggled again and nodded, still having no clue what was being talked about. Honkers continued to scowl at them out of the corner of his eye. He'd have to watch his brother closely with this young troll-kin around. Shankers was likely to drive the boy into troll-hood faster than any lesson a lass could give him. There were some things Tootles didn't need to know yet, and that was one of them.

Growling inwardly and wishing he had kept his mouth shut after his own experience with a lass, Honkers plodded on with his brother and new-found troll-kin right behind. He kept his eyes open and senses alert; the world was amiss and he didn't want to be caught off guard.

After all, he had two brothers to look after now.

The thought made him want to puke.

_Stupid twin,_ he thought with a scowl. _Always have to safe-guard you. Make brother's job harder than usual._

* * *

Nibs jerked back, his eyes widening into round, bulging saucers. "What did you say!"

Icky paused, sheathing her fangs. Then, noting the look of terror on the boy's face, rolled her eyes. "Geeze, human, chilly down. I was just kidding. I have no desire to eat you." Nibs only continued to stare at her, leaning as far back as he could without falling over. She scowled. "I'm a werewolf, stupid. Haven't you ever heard the stories? Where some random human gets bitten by a werewolf and he turns into one himself? I have my own type of 'venom'. If I bite you I'm sure my poison will annihilate the spider-baby's crap. Got that?"

"Yeah but then what happens if it does and I turn into a werewolf?" Nibs demanded. "I don't want to be a freak." A light sheen of sweat was forming on his body, and minute shivers wracked him. Icky stared, a look of minor insult appearing on her face.

"It's curable if it's caught in time," she retorted quietly after a long silence. "And it's not so bad." Then her eyes narrowed. "You wanna die then? Fine with me. Not like I care. I have better things to with my time than spend it trying to save your stupid human ass." With that, she started to get to her feet, preparing to leave.

"Wait..." Nibs swallowed a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry. But I just...I don't want to die, but I don't want to turn into a werewolf either."

Icky made a face. "I get your point, Nibs." She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. "So to bite, or not to bite? That is the question." Nibs was quiet so she added, "You won't turn into one if we catch it in time."

"And if we don't?"

"Then you either die in the process or you change and maybe get some of my kind's self-healing abilities. That is, if you're real lucky. As it is your options aren't that great anyway. There's not enough time to find anything else to bite you."

Nibs sighed. "I don't like it," he whispered, tears starting to brim in his eyes.

"I wouldn't think so," Icky said. "But don't get all sobby and whiny on me, human, cuz I'm not going to be your mama. Crying never got me anywhere and it won't get you anywhere either. Suck it up."

"You don't have to be so mean!" Nibs snapped back at her. The tears were nearly falling now and he hitched in a shaky breath.

"Hah!" Icky puffed. "If I weren't so damn mean I never would have made it this far. Now you have two options - let me bite you right here, right now, and see what happens, or I can walk the hell away and never look back. And you can die."

Nibs choked back a sob. "Fine," he hissed. "Bite me."

"If you said that in different context I may be insulted," the werewolf replied dryly. Then she knelt down in front of him again and flashed her teeth. "Just hold still. I'm not gonna rip out your throat, just a quick bite should suffice."

"Just get it over with!" Nibs said, closing his eyes and flinching.

"Believe me, human, I'm enjoying this as much as you are." Then, quick as a flash, she lunged forward and sank her teeth into the boy's neck. Nibs cried out and started to struggle, but she slammed her hand against his chest to keep him still. She pulled away after a few seconds and the boy was crying fully now. "There. It's done." Then, angrily, "Oh, don't be such a baby! The spider did a lot worse than I did!"

It was true. Where Icky had bitten, only a little bit of blood was dribbling down from the puncture holes her fangs had made. In comparison, the spider baby had left ravaged flesh, torn every which way and turning a nasty, spotted green-gray colour. The werewolf sat back on her haunches, watching Nibs as he fought his tears.

"That hurt!" he said.

"Well duh. I bit you."

"Stop being so mean!"

"Stop being so stupid, then!"

The two had a glaring contest that didn't last as long as it could have under normal circumstances. However, at that point something inside the boy snapped and his body jerked violently. His head fell back and his spine arched in a rather painful way, as a stream of ropy vomit spewed from his mouth.

Icky jumped back, and then lunged forward, turning Nibs on his side quickly so he wouldn't choke. Beneath her hands she could feel his muscles twitching spasmodically, his entire body shuddering with the force of his heaves. Low, bubbly screams that swiftly turned to high-pitched howls of agony wrenched from his throat, broken only when thick chunks of something flew out of his mouth to splatter on the ground.

"Ugh!" Icky winced, pounding on the boy's back. "Come on, human, breathe! Just keep going, don't look at it!" Nibs's eyes cracked open but Icky puffed angrily at him. "I said don't look at it! Just heave, boy, heave! Get that crap out of your system!"

Nibs howled as another spasm rocked his body. "I-"

"Don't talk!" Icky hissed, pounding his back harder. "It's just the venom leaving your body! You can't stop now, Nibs. Just HEAVE!"

_Easy for you to say,_ Nibs thought blearily.

"It's the venoms mixing," Icky told him in a calmer tone. "They're fighting for dominance in your body. I'm pretty sure mine's winning this fight." She grinned in a feral manner, thumping the boy's back to help him. "Spiders always lose to werewolves, human! That's why my kind have survived this long."

Nibs only continued to hurl, taking minor comfort that he at least wasn't alone in the woods, throwing up. The heaves began to ease a bit, for which was extremely grateful, but Icky frowned.

"You can't stop," she said suddenly, hitting him harder than he thought she ought to have. Nibs gagged. "You can't stop yet. It's not done!" Her mind worked quickly, then she started growling. "Imagine the grossest thing you can think of. Like...um...didn't that spider thing smell? Ew! I mean gods, it was like a thousand dead rats rotting in an open graveyard where all the bodies are fresh and bloated and really, really smelly-"

Nibs heaved more powerfully than ever. His mouth was coated in filth and the ground in front of him was soaked in vomit. Icky grinned. "Rats!" she said, more loudly. "Greasy, disgusting, foul rats with their innards oozing out of their eyeballs and their brains spilling out their ears! Covered in shit! Bathing in it! Think of the smell, think of the sight! Isn't it just-"

The boy yowled, or tried to. He was nearly choking on his own vomit, now, and Icky remembered to smack him again, hard. A rather large, thick chunk of puke bulged between his lips. Nibs made a weird sound in his throat and the werewolf glanced at his face, her eyes widening.

"Shit!"

She drew her hand back and then let fly one last time, thwacking Nibs so hard on the back of his neck that it knocked him unconscious after the bloated chunk flew out of his mouth.

"There," she said to the unconscious boy. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Almost as an afterthought, Icky laid the boy down more comfortably on the ground, away from the large puddle of vomit he had passed out next to. Frowning, she scanned his face and winced at the slime on it; she really couldn't leave it like that, could she? No. It would make her sick before much time passed and it would be so much harder for her to look at Nibs with all that crap on his face.

Taking the cloth that had been wrapped around her arm, she spat in it and then wiped the boy's face, wrinkling her nose at it. "Stupid Abura," she muttered, spitting into the cloth again and working on Nibs's face, watching as it slowly cleared. "Always putting me into situations like this. Bastard likes to torture me a little too much."

When his face was sufficiently clean, Icky stood up and unhooked a pouch from her belt. Opening it carefully, she deposited its contents into her palm, sighing in annoyance.

Tink lay limp in the werewolf's hand, unaware of anything and everything that was happening around her. Her glow was blinking on and off, an ugly shade of green, and her brow was drawn together in pain.

"And what am I supposed to do about you?" Icky asked the unconscious fairy quietly. "I could do something for the human, but fairies are beyond me."

The small pixie made no answer, and Icky sighed again. She took the pouch and placed it on the ground, laying Tink down on it as gently as possible. The fairy moaned softly and Icky scowled.

"Stupid Saxon. You're making everyone's lives a living hell and not just mine. Damn you!"

* * *

_More Author's notes: As this story progresses, it does and will become more violent, gory, and there will be a hint of slash. I'll be posting all of what I have written of it in the next few days, but it will be relatively difficult as I no longer have Microsoft Word and can't save anything as HTML files, and will have to manually fix all the codes and such and save them to my website and then save them off the site. Confusing, but workable._

_Thanks for all the reviews that I have gotten; I really appreciate it. When the time comes to the last chapter I have written, ideas and encouragement will be a great help as I haven't really written on this story in months. Heh, yeah... so, these chapters are dedicated to the enthusiatic reviewer, Kohkoa I believe,who left such a nice review that I had to post the rest of what I have for their sake. Maybe I'll finally get my butt moving on this fic again after so long. Let's hope!_


	11. Metamorphosis Part Three

_Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel_

**Part Three: Metamorphosis**

3/4

_He is coming._

Shadows skipped between dark trees, long dead and rotting. Willow trees, ancient as the sky and sun, fluttered their branches as they whispered harshly together of dark times. Elongated arms swung in a strange rhythm as the shadow people danced about, eyes gleaming with an inner flame as tendrils of mist skimmed across horribly morphed bodies, crumbling to dust from the poison within them.

_He is coming._

Footprints in the sand guided those who had lost their way into a mass of shadows that resembled a disgusting orgy. Black blood squeezed out of cracks in the tree's bark, swelling into fat drops before slipping down to puddle on the ground. Human entrails were strung across branches, like teenagers had attacked on Devil's Night and thrown toilet paper across everything in their path.

_He is coming._

At the base of the trees, large piles of human and animal innards bubbled and popped, boiling atop some unseen fire. Insects gathered around the piles, waving their skinny, black legs around as though they were beseeching the gods. The squelch of tiny mouths ripping chunks of flesh from bodies hanging in the trees permeated the air, and the stench of fresh corpses swelled like a balloon until it became unbearable.

_He is coming._

Somewhere in the darkness, babies were shrieking. Hidden in the darkest shadows, they wailed as their eyes bulged nastily and popped out of their sockets, hanging from thin strings to bounce against naked, lacerated chests. Malformed bones jutted out from bloated flesh as the babies swarmed over each other, sobbing.

_He is coming._

Slightly hung spread-eagle from a particularly large willow, his wrists and ankles bound by entrails to the tree. The slick feel of blood was at his back, while more entrails and pieces of human anatomy dangled from nails hammered into the bark around him, draping across his body like some sick sort of clothing.

_He is coming._

Half-lidded eyes stared into the shadows, pupils shrunk to pinpoints to reveal terrified green orbs. Blonde hair, matted with blood and other such nastiness, hung heavily around his face, knotted beyond simple repair.

_He is coming._

Slightly couldn't remember if anything had happened between the time he had been sucked out the window and woke up tied to the tree. All he knew was that he had opened his eyes to find himself in this situation, and he didn't like it one little bit.

It didn't help that the tree was talking to him, either. Its voice was low and scratchy as it told him the same thing over and over again, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the tree to elaborate on what it was muttering about.

_He is coming. _

Tears slipped down Slightly's cheeks as he tried, again, to free himself from the entrails binding him. He didn't know what they were as he had never seen the insides of a human body before, but they smelled and looked gross and he hated how they felt so slick and puffy on the tender skin of his wrists. Not to mention they were seeping blood. Blood was something he had seen, and recognized, and the thought that it was all over him, dripping down his helpless body, made him want to scream.

_He is coming._

Whatever happened to his mother? And Mungojerrie? He opened the window, he aired out the room! He did what they had told him to do so why was this horror still happening? Why couldn't he just wake up?

_He is coming to find you._

Oh, now _that_ was different. Slightly shivered as the tree groaned and shifted a bit, as though it were uneasy. Couldn't the stupid tree be a little more helpful than that?

_He is coming for you._

_Oh, goodie,_ Slightly thought sarcastically. The tree does have a vocabulary.

_You opened the window. He is coming._

"What?" Slightly whispered. The babies stopped screaming when he spoke, and for that he was just a tad grateful.

_You shouldn't have opened the window._

"Mother said..."

_You shouldn't have opened the window._

"But Mungojerrie..."

_DOMINOES!_

Slightly winced in pain as the tree suddenly heaved against him, stretching his body into an arch as its trunk bulged beyond its normal size. The boy whimpered.

_He is coming. _

_Stupid tree said that already,_ Slightly thought inwardly, wishing he could wipe away his tears but afraid to get blood on his face.

_The pond of Fate is rippling._

Oooh, _now_ things are getting interesting. Slightly pulled against his bonds again, wincing as he felt the entrails rubbing against him.

_You opened the window. You should not have dropped the stone._

_Whaaa...?_

_He felt the ripple when you dropped the stone._

"What are you talking about?" the blonde cried angrily.

_He is coming._

"Shut up!"

_He..._

"Shut up!"

_...is coming._

"SHUT-"

A cold breeze swept through the trees, bringing a terrible sense of foreboding to Slightly's already-strained mind. He began to tremble as a dark presence made itself known somewhere in the woods, coming closer.

"Oh, no," he whispered, not knowing why he was so frightened, but knowing that if he was still stuck there when it reached the tree, he would be doomed. The fear of the unknown future thrust itself into the forefront of Slightly's mind, and he increased his struggles.

_I have to get out of here..._

_He is nearing us._

_I know that!_

_You should not have opened the window. He felt the ripple._

_I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about._

_We will not survive._

_Who the heck are you anyway?_

_I am..._

_What?_

_I am One._

_What does that mean!_

_You must flee._

Slightly grunted, terror continuing to grow in his heart as the dark presence rapidly approached. The air thrummed with the power it emitted, making the boy tremble.

_Can't you help me?_

_It is not my place. Help yourself._

_Jerk..._

_You have the power. I don't._

The boy blinked as a funky little light appeared in front of his nose. A tiny, almost imperceptible ball of sparkles that just hung there, seeming to watch him.

_What...is that?_

_The beginning._

Slightly bit his lip. _The beginning of what?_

_Everything._

_You're slightly impossible!_

_Impossible is in the eye of he who has no power._

_What is that supposed to mean?_

The tree groaned suddenly, branches shifting around Slightly. The boy watched, fearfully, as they moved to surround the ball of light, urging it toward him. The light seemed to blink at him curiously, almost like it was studying him, sizing the boy up. Blood continued to ooze out of the crevices of the tree's bark, and it hissed.

_He must not find you._

Slightly stared as the orb was pushed closer to him, until it was floating directly between his eyes, barely an inch away from his skin. _I don't understand..._

_You will._

_Grr...can't you make any sense! What is going on!_

The little light flickered suddenly, and two strings spread out, like wings. Slightly gasped and stared as it floated to touch his face lightly, and a warm feeling spread throughout him.

_When you wake, you will know more._

Slightly almost choked, blinking against the light the orb made. _I'm dreaming!_

_To an extent. But this is more than just a dream._

_How...?_

The dark presence was closer than ever, and with its proximity, Slightly could hear a low roar rising. He wanted to cry.

_Make it stop!_

_Take the light!_ The tree sounded almost worried now, its voice developing an odd accent. _Take de light, before he takes you. Protect yourself._

Slightly didn't know how he was supposed to "take the light" or how in the hell he was supposed to "protect himself", but he figured that it was in his best interest and so he did the first thing that popped into his head.

He opened his mouth, tilted his head up and snapped the light into his mouth, swallowing it. It burned going down his throat, and in response he cried out in pain as everything in his head erupted into a blaze of white radiance. He felt the light settle in his stomach like a rock, and gasped as the tree suddenly shrieked and threw him forward.

Slightly yelped as the entrails that bound him released him, slipping off his body and leaving harsh streaks of blood on his skin. The world spun around him and distantly he heard an enraged roar, as the light in his belly exploded, singing through his veins and casting whatever was left of the blonde's conscious mind into a world where darkness couldn't touch.

* * *

Peter sighed, staring down at his hands as the scent of rum wafted into his nostrils. Well, he would be staring at them if he could see them - as it was, he was looking just off to the side of them. He could feel Hook's eyes on him, and though he didn't really want to tell the man everything that had happened when he was unconscious, he didn't have much of a choice. Hook was his only hope now, as much as he hated to admit it. Maybe the pirate could provide some comfort, even if it was only cold comfort.

He took a sip of rum, feeling his stomach start to warm up as it settled. His head felt light and no longer hurt. Maybe that's why adults liked rum so much, he mused blearily to himself. If it makes their aches go away. Even holding the cup calmed Peter a bit, and he didn't know why. "I remember...something inside me hurting...I remember starting to fall. I don't know what happened after that, until I was dreaming. But...it wasn't a dream. It was real."

He took another sip of the rum. Hook watched him closely, narrowing his eyes. "What happened, boy?"

Peter blinked, frowning down towards the glass. "I was stuck in a weird place. I couldn't move, could barely talk." His voice fell to a whisper. "I heard him. He started talking to me. He said such horrible things...and he showed them to me." Peter bit his lip, trembling a little. The alcohol was making him feel giddy, but talking about what he remembered was like reliving it, and forced the urge he had to giggle back. "He showed me what was going on with Slightly. He showed me my boys, and he showed me what he was going to do to Wendy." He paused. "Captain?"

"Yes?" Hook raised an eyebrow.

"He was...he showed me how he was gonna hurt her."

The man's eyes narrowed. "How?"

Peter only managed to whisper delicately what he saw, but Hook heard him. And what Hook heard sent his brain into a roiling frenzy. However, before he really had time to come up with a particularly nasty response on what he did to creatures who dishonoured a woman that way, Peter continued.

"He showed me Slightly...and Jukes. They were in the forest, and the birds were attacking them." He shuddered. "The birds all had these ugly slug things on their backs, and they were trying to peck Slightly and Jukes to death. There were so many...they couldn't get away. Slightly was hurt. Jukes tried to help him."

Momentarily surprised by this, the corner of Hook's mouth twitched. "Do you know if they still live?" he asked after a long silence.

"No." Peter shook his head. "He...would only show me so much."

"It explains why you were talking in your sleep," Hook mused, rubbing his chin against his knuckles. "And now I understand. Tell me, boy. What else happened?"

"He took the Indian village," Peter said solemnly, taking another sip of rum. He closed his eyes and his brow furrowed. "Great Big Little Panther, Tiger Lily and the others are...gone. They are under his power now." He opened his eyes, staring blindly out across the room. "Everyone...so many people are gone. He got to the dwarves...and they took the troll village down. He...he took my boys. They're under his control now. And...he got Wendy..."

Hook's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Has he done anything to her yet?" he asked evenly, barely restraining the urge to hunt this thing down and choke him. As evil as he could be, Hook would never - could never - dream of doing what Peter said this creature planned to do to Wendy. The very idea of it made the man's blood boil.

"I don't think so. He probably would have said so if he did, just to mock me," Peter said bitterly, gripping his cup tighter. "I hate him."

"My opinion isn't in his favour either," Hook muttered to himself. Then he looked at Peter again. "What else?"

"Lots of making fun of me, of hurting me," Peter replied, gritting his teeth. "He didn't show me a lot except what he planned to do." A slow smile crept at the boy's lips. "But I don't think he's as strong as he thinks he is."

Hook raised an eyebrow.

"Before I woke up...I had a dream. I saw someone." Peter chewed his lip, trying to remember the specifics. "He came through a window. I don't know how it got there, but he came through. And he stood there, and smiled at me. The monster started yelling, and tried to kill him. But..." Peter began to smile. "He couldn't. He couldn't even touch him. He was all shining, and the light was beautiful...he told me to go through the window and I'd be okay. He wouldn't let the monster get me. He promised." Peter's smile was firm, now. "I went through the window, and woke up."

He paused for a long moment. "Whatever he was, the monster was scared of him. I think."

"Interesting," Hook murmured after a short pause. He rubbed his knuckles against his chin again, deep in thought.

"Captain?"

Hook blinked, wondering at the boy's sudden politeness. "Yes, Pan?"

"I don't think we can beat him alone. The monster, I mean."

"Why do you say that?" Hook said, frowning.

"That person...I don't know, but I know he can't keep me safe from it all the time. Look around you...everything's gone wrong." Peter looked strangely serious, his hands still and no longer playing with his cup. "Maybe we shouldn't fight this time."

Hook looked completely flabbergasted. "What?"

"You and me...maybe this time...we shouldn't fight." Peter licked his lips. "There is something bigger going on. Our war is the least of it." He looked in Hook's general direction, his face a mask of utter seriousness.

"Are you telling me that you wish for a truce, Pan?" Hook asked in disbelief.

"Yes." Peter sighed, taking another sip of his rum. His shoulders shook a bit. "There are more important things than our fight. They need to be settled."

Hook frowned. The brat had a point. From outside, amidst the wind and the waves, he could hear his crew shouting in fury, beating down the mermaids as best they could. Cookson howled something in Greek and the sound of iron smashing against a skull as he brandished one of his frying pans could be heard clearly above everything else. There certainly were serious things going on, the man mused to himself. Perhaps the brat was right. Survival came first and foremost. He could kill Pan later.

"I concur, boy," Hook said after a moment. "For once, you may be right." He got to his feet and scowled. "We shall have a truce. I will spare your life until these times have ended. My men, nor I, will harm you until this is over. But once it is, I will sink my hook into your gullet."

Peter smiled. "Agreed, then." He finished off his cup and raised it up, suddenly smiling in a lopsided way. "I'd like some more rum, Captain, if you don't mind."

* * *

Icky sat with her back against a tree, gray eyes staring into a small fire she had built not too long ago. Arms crossed and tail folded across her legs, her ears flicked at every noise, muscles tense and ready to jump at any sign of approaching danger. Every few minutes her eyes would shift from the flames to Nibs, who lay near the fire, unconscious. His face was pale, and sweat lingered on his brow as his body shook minutely.

The werewolf wuffed quietly, noting the slight changes that had already begun on the boy. His hands, clenched as they were, were already beginning to sport tipped claws, and a light touch of blonde fur was growing on his knuckles. Not quite noticeable to the untrained eye, but Icky could see the transformation of human to werewolf beginning in the boy.

She didn't know whether to be glad that her idea worked or irritated that it did. After all, she didn't give much of a damn about the human. Why would she want him to be one of her kind? But then, Abura had asked her, in not so many words, to make sure the human got to the Were-Forest alive and in one piece. Though she didn't much care for Nibs, she had promised Abura. Her word was her bond.

Usually.

_I should probably be out looking for wolfsbane,_ she thought idly to herself. Wolfsbane, she knew, was a plant that could counter the bite of a werewolf, and stop the transformation. If Nibs was given it in time, he wouldn't change. If, however, the timing just a bit off, he would change, and there would never be a chance to return to his normal form. He would be stuck as a werewolf forever.

_So why aren't I looking for it?_ She thought with an inner growl. _Oh, maybe because leaving him alone with an unconscious fairy in a forest full of enemies isn't really an option? Or...grr. Do I want him to become?_

She shifted a bit in her position, eyes once again traveling to Nibs's face. She scowled at him. "Stupid human," she muttered. "I don't like you. I don't want you to be like me. You don't deserve it." She scowled some more as he flinched and moaned softly. "Not that you can hear me or anything, but I think you suck!"

She got to her feet and stared to pace around the fire, scuffing the ground purposely and tearing at it with her claws. "I hate humans. They're so weak. You are weak!" She stabbed a finger at the unconscious boy. "Why do you humans have to be so damn weak? If you had half the power my kind has, you wouldn't be so...so easy to kill! Or eat! You wouldn't be in this situation if you were like me!"

Her ears flattened against her skull as she growled viciously. "You suck!" she yelled suddenly at Nibs. "You are pathetic! Weak! No muscle on you! And you smell weird!" Now, at a loss for anything else insulting that she could yell, Icky started pacing again, growling to herself.

"I should go get the wolfsbane. Yes. I should. But I can't leave him alone. No, I can't. He's already started changing, and I have to stop it. But I can't leave him alone. Grrr, this whole thing stinks." She looked back at Nibs, whose face was twitching a bit. Blonde fur was growing around and in his ears, making them look tufted. His hands were slowly morphing into paw-like things, and a bulge was forming on his backside where a tail was beginning to sprout.

Icky scowled. "Why is it moving so fast?" she demanded loudly, becoming frustrated. "It never went this fast before!" _There's not a lot of time...damn it, what do I do?_

She cursed loudly, then suddenly spun and punched the nearest tree. It relieved some of her anger, but not all of it. "Damn!" Closing her eyes, Icky leaned against the tree, tail drooping between her legs. "Damn," she repeated. "Damn, damn, damn."

"'Cky?"

The werewolf's head snapped up, but that was all. Her ears flattened and her fur spiked up. "Yes?" she asked evenly.

"'S'wrong?"

"Nothing, Nibs. Nothing's wrong."

The boy's eyes were half-open, staring past the fire to where Icky stood. His face was frowning as best it could. "Why were y'yelling?" he whispered, fighting the urge to fall back asleep.

"I'm just mad. That's all." Icky finally turned to look at him, her eyes narrowing. "Nothing important. Go back to sleep."

Nibs sighed, blinking slowly. "'R'you sure you're okay?" he slurred.

"Yes. How many times do I have to tell you? I'm fine. Just mad. Now get your ass back to sleep before I knock you unconscious to make you shut your trap."

Nibs frowned, curling in on himself a little bit. "Dun hav' to be mean..."

Sighing in annoyance, Icky padded over to him and sat down next to him. "Just go back to sleep, human. You need your rest."

"I...don't want to..."

"Why the hell not?"

"...I'm scared."

Icky stared, and then scowled. "You-" She started to say something really cutting but the look on the blonde's face made her pause. He really did look scared. "Er...don't be. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe." She ground that out as best she could, not used to comforting anyone in any way whatsoever. Especially anyone she didn't particularly like.

"...promise?"

The question caught her off guard. She blinked, then frowned. "Well...yes. I promise, I guess. I have nothing better to do, after all." He didn't look satisfied with that, so she said as kindly as possible, "I'm not going anywhere, Nibs. Nothing is going to happen to you."

He smiled at her. She twitched.

"Thank you."

"Whatever. Just go back to sleep."

* * *

_Author's Notes: Yes, I am aware that Icky is a bit of a Mary Sue. I generally don't like making female characters because I do find, with me, they have the tendency to be like fictional versions of myself. So I tried to make Icky as mean as possible while still being a good guy. Not sure if it worked or not, but hey - whatever works. I do hope my characters are enjoyable to all of you; I had a lot of fun writing them. :)_

_Oh and yes, Kohkoa, you are indeed worthy of a special thanks. After all, I might have let this story languish forever if it wasn't for you. At this point I'm halfway through the story, and it's taken me two years to get here... so if you keep bugging me, and the stars are right, I may actually finish this story! Woo! crosses fingers_

_Future warnings: This story gets very, very dark. Lots of gore, weirdness, mild slash content and Icky has a filthy, lonely mind. ;) That's all._

_--TSC_


	12. Metamorphosis Part Four

**Damnation, Salvation, Fire and Steel**

**Part Three: Metamorphosis**

4/4

Twenty-three years have passed since the day that I met her. Such a small thing amidst the carnage of her emaciated village, an insect to either be crushed or ignored. But I saw opportunity in her eyes. Sitting betwixt the corpses of they who had spawned her, eyes glimmering with tears and ears pinned back to her skull…ai, yes. Much opportunity. How she showed me her teeth when I approached, and how confusion lit that grimy face when I offered her the chance for life.

Twenty-three years, and she has only aged so much. Whereas once a battered, filthy pup sat quivering before me, now a lethal weapon of demise hunts the woods, seeking out the destruction of one whom we both despise. Lurking in the shadows of lost memories and simple ignorance, she and I are quite a pair. She who Fate has dealt a bad card, and I who have reached willingly into the flames to snuff them out.

Twenty-three years of training, teaching, giving. Twenty-three years of hiding in the darkness, of dancing just beyond the realm of capture and foiling as many plots as we were allowed without exposing ourselves. Da, if only that was enough. If only he hadn't grown so damned strong so damned fast. So many opportunities wasted, so many chances, but I could not allow her to be caught. Ever.

Twenty-three years is a long time, longer than I would have even thought. Ai, but maybe it only seems so long for the fact that I do not live to live, but live to serve. Is this the life of a slave? Or the life of a traitor? Da, I do not know. But it has been long, summers end too swiftly and winters never end swiftly enough. So many cold nights, cold, cold nights in my chamber. Alone, but never quite. I have her.

Twenty-three years and he still does not know. What an eediot! With all the power that fool boy has, he still has not detected her. But all for the better, I suppose. I have seen his dreams, I have seen what he does. I have done it too, but take no pleasure as he does from that torture. Vile, filthy human.

Twenty-three years and still she haunts the woods, alone. What has been done, cannot be undone. Or forgiven. I ask nothing of forgiveness; I have no need of it. But he must be made to see…he must be made to suffer. I am not the virus. I am the carrier.

Twenty-three damn years! Far too many to allow this to continue, and so we have come to a decision. It must end. The rule must be restored to he that deserves it, not he that craves it. The balance, it will be restored. And he shall suffer the consequences. I have begun what I must do, as the Prophecies foretold.

Twenty-three years for her…forty-nine for myself. Ai, but that it too long. I grow weary of this battle. Only so much time has been given to me to complete my duty, to play my role in the Prophecies. Only so much time…but it is too much time. The year's end is approaching, the year, the second, the moment that signals the fiftieth anniversary of my rise to claim the position I was destined to take.

Forty-nine years, and the suffering will finally end. The Light will devour the Dark, and the Stormrider shall rise from the ashes of dying magic to annihilate that which does not belong here.

Only so much time.

Only so much time…

* * *

Hook wasn't entirely sure if he ought to feel a slight measure of amusement at the sight before him, or if he should be rubbing his forehead from the headache he knew must be spawning within his skull. As it was, he was currently sitting at Peter's bedside, watching the boy as he rambled on about how unfair this monster was being and how, when he could see again, he would give him what-for. Not to mention the boy was ranting quite a bit about his lack of vision. Hook hadn't thought Peter was the type to whine; now he felt proven wrong.

"It's just not fair!" Peter was currently moaning, wobbling a bit as he propped himself up on one arm. Blind eyes stared blankly ahead of him as his lips formed a rather bizarre – in Hook's mind – pout. "Why does he have to be so mean? I didn't do anything to him!"

Peter's earlier calm had deteriorated over the time it took him to finish the third cup of rum Hook gave him. Now James regretted making that decision in the first place. Should have suffered with him being the cocky little swine he usually is, he thought sourly, and not this whiny inebriated brat.

Meanwhile, Smee was attempting to console the boy, patting his shoulder lightly before moving to place bandages on the boy's eyes to protect them from infection. "There, there now," the bosun said. "Ye'll get yer revenge, ta be sure. Just like wit' me Cap'n, often 'ave I told 'im he'll get yer guts spilt on th' deck. He 'asn't yet, but there's time, ta be sure."

Hook twitched. Peter snorted. "If my luck is as bad as Codfish's then I fear I shall never have my revenge," he replied mournfully. He continued on, not noticing the red hue Hook's face was taking. "Mr. Smee?"

"Aye, laddie?" Smee asked as he finished wrapping the gauze.

"I have to pee."

Hook blinked, then guffawed quietly into his fist. Peter's head turned his way, a frown crossing his face, before shoving the blankets off him. "I really have to pee," he said, pausing for a moment. His face got a strange look to it, and then he said, "Umm…"

"Aye, lad?" Smee asked, helping the boy to his feet.

"Ummm…."

"Spit it out already, Pan," Hook growled.

"Where do I go pee here?"

Hook sighed, rubbing his temple with his fingers. He knew of his men's habits, how they sometimes relieved themselves over the railing, and to be honest he did not approve of it one bit. Although it would be amusing to see Pan try and do that in his current condition, he knew realistically that it was out of the question. "Smee, allow the brat to use my chamber pot. I highly doubt that he's well enough to go to the head and perform his duty there, and considering the circumstances, I would prefer him to stay within my cabin." He glanced up briefly. "Assist him if it becomes necessary."

"I don't need any help!" Peter snapped, nearly stumbling before Smee caught him. His cheeks burned brightly in embarrassment. "I can do it myself!"

Hook snorted. "Under normal circumstances, I'm sure you can," he retorted, barely disguising the nastiness of his tone. "However, need I remind you of your lack of eyesight? Do you honestly believe you can aim properly?"

Peter flushed a brighter shade of red. Hook almost laughed, a sense of delight perking in him at the sight of the boy so flustered. "I am Peter Pan!" the boy said hotly. "I never miss!"

"I'm quite sure," Hook muttered. "Try, then, boy. Try and see, Mr. Smee will be right there with you in case you need…ah…assistance."

Huffing indignantly, Peter attempted to walk, but almost fell again. Smee took the boy's arm and led him gently toward where Hook's chamber pot was, talking to him gently. "Now, lad, there be no shame in it," he told the boy firmly yet gently. "When the Cap'n lost 'is hand, I'd had ta 'elp him, ta be sure."

"Hah! Codfish needed you to help him use the pot?" and here Peter broke out into gales of drunken giggling, at the expense of a very annoyed Hook, who scowled and silently questioned the deities why he was cursed with such a stupid, yet loyal, man as his bosun.

As Smee helped Peter (not without a lot of protesting and then, to Hook's ear's horror, a squeak as an accident occurred), Hook got to his feet and went to the window, pulling the curtains back to stare outside at the storm. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in thought.

_We are in quite a predicament, are we not, Pan?_ He mused. _You are weak and helpless, some nameless freak pursuing you in your dreams. I have lost my gunner somewhere out there, and cannot leave the ship thanks to those…mermaids. Or what is left of them._

He watched his men scurry about on deck, tossing things over the side as the mermaids continued to throw themselves at the side of the ship. Cookson was howling something he couldn't make out, but had somehow consented to using his "food" as a weapon and was using it against their attackers.

Turning back, he noticed that Peter had finished and was being led back to the bed by Smee, the boy's face a mask of horror. "I missed!" he mumbled to himself, shocked that he had done such a thing. "I can' believe I missed!"

"There now, lad," Smee said, tucking the boy under the covers. "It coulda been worse, aye? Ya could 'ave been sittin' and missed."

Peter pouted, feeling the urge to cry. "But I'm Peter Pan!" he protested weakly, as a heavy feeling of exhaustion began to come over him. "I never miss! And…" He yawned. "Why'm I so tired?"

"There be a first time for everything, ta be sure," Smee said solemnly, though he was smiling reassuringly. He patted the covers over boy's chest lightly. "The alcohol be getting ta yer system about now, Mr. Pan. That's why yer feelin' as tired as ye are. 'Tis good fer ya, sleepin' an' all."

"But…"

Smee chided him gently. "Don't ye worry about the mess, now, lad! Mr. Smee will take it up clean and good. Ye just get yer rest."

Peter grumbled something about the chamber pot growing legs and making him miss on purpose before he fell into a heavy, alcohol-induced sleep. Hook wasn't surprised the boy hadn't lasted long; it was probably his first taste of hard liquor in his whole life, and he had had three cups of it. Not to mention he was injured and weak already.

As soon as he was sure the boy was asleep, Hook approached Smee, his brow drawn together. "Smee," he muttered in a low voice.

"Aye, Cap'n Hook sir?"

"I want the watches doubled tonight," the pirate captain said quietly. "All men are to sleep light and armed, and none are to be on watch alone."

Smee nodded. "Aye, aye, Cap'n Hook sir."

* * *

Icky doused the fire, kicking dirt over it to silence the flames and the smoke as best she could. Pausing to sniff the air every few seconds, she began to dart around the campsite, stuffing everything that would fit into her pouch, including the still-unconscious Tinkerbell, who only moaned in response.

The werewolf paused again, lifting her head to scent the wind. Her senses usually weren't wrong, especially when she had been taught early in life to detect the smell of Saxon's goons. Her fur stood on end as her tail lashed. Damnit. This isn't happening. This is not happening!

Quickly, she padded over to Nibs, who still lay limp in sleep. Her brow furrowed as she noted the changes his body was developing even as she knelt down to heave him up over her shoulder. The boy cried out softly, his eyes cracking open. "'Cky? Wha—"

"Shhhhh!" Shifting Nibs around on her back, she forced him to wrap his arms around her neck, tucking her hands under his knees. "We're leaving. Now. Not a word! And stay awake."

Seeming to sense that something was wrong, Nibs fell quiet, resting his chin on the wolf's shoulder as she trotted silently into the darkness of the woods. His mind blearily focused itself on keeping his arms locked around her neck, lightly enough not to choke but tight enough to stay on her back. The bounce of her trot made him feel ill, and he shut his eyes.

"Nrrrrg…"

"Shh!" Icky increased her pace, ears flicking back to catch any sounds from behind them. Though Nibs couldn't hear anything, the wolf could hear the soft trampling of small feet on wet earth and the squelching sound of slugs as they dragged their bloated bodies through the underbrush. She swore mentally, breaking out into a light run.

They had reached the campsite. She could almost see them sniffing the dying fire, growling to themselves. Silently, she thanked whatever gods there were that her kind left barely detectable tracks and they would, at the very least, have a hard time following her. That is, if she got far enough away and somehow managed to hide the scent she left behind.

A piercing howl echoed through the night, causing her hackles to rise. _What the hell was that?_

From the pouch at her side, Icky heard the fairy within cry out softly as she slowly began to wake. It seemed the jarring of the run had knocked Tink back into consciousness. Icky now mentally cursed the gods for not granting her a lighter step, and for giving her such a hard time.

Now the werewolf was at a full-out run, cutting through the underbrush as fast as she could go, her mind going over the course she knew she had to take. _I have to get to the Were-Forest. I have to lose them. Which way? Ack, left!_

The howl came again as Icky lunged off the path and into the shadows. Somewhere ahead of her she could hear the sound of running water, while behind her the enemy seemed to have caught her scent and was in pursuit. _Shit! Shit! Shit!_

Nibs was now very close to throwing up again. His head pounded and his body felt achy and weird. "Uggghh…Icky, please…stop…"

"Can't!" she panted, shoving her way through a particularly dense wall of branches and shrubbery. "I stop and we all die!"

With that said, they exploded out of the woods to come to the edge of a particularly deep river. The werewolf paused for only a moment to remove the pouch from her belt and clamp her teeth around the string that held it closed. Inside of it, Tink's brain was beginning to focus, and she jingled unhappily at her predicament as Icky took a deep breath through her nostrils and waded out into the river.

Nibs let out a slight yelp as ice cold water swallowed up his thighs and hips. Icky snarled something unintelligible at him as she released his legs and began to paddle, struggling with the weight on her back and the pouch in her mouth. The water rose up to her neck as she reached the middle of the river, and on her back, Nibs was nearly hyperventilating from fear.

"Icky…"

_If my mouth wasn't stuffed with your damn fairy and I wasn't busy I'd tell you to shut the hell up!_ she thought viciously.

"Icky, what are _those_?"

The wolf paused only briefly, looking back. Her eyes bugged out of her head before she turned back to keep swimming, only at a severely increased pace. _Oh, shit! Ohhhhh shit!_

Standing where they had been only moments before was a horde of…things. Icky didn't know what they were called, but she knew they belonged to Saxon. They had to have been a new breed, though, seeing as she had never seen them before. They looked like badly sewn hand puppets made with different parts of human and animal parts. Patches of different sorts of animal skins created a horrible collage on their bodies. Tufts of fur here, scales there, misshapen heads and fangs hammered into cracked bone, their bodies mismatched and sporting the symbol of their master upon their bellies.

_Or maybe he was just waiting to unleash them,_ Icky thought mindlessly as her feet scrabbled with the loose gravel of the riverbed.

Gasping, the wolf launched herself up onto land, wet fur gleaming in the darkness. She glanced back again, removing the pouch from her jaws to pant heavily. Nibs's arms around her neck tightened a bit, and her ears flattened.

"Come back," someone from across the river moaned.

"Come back," echoed a few others.

"Come home with us," said another. "Be with us…"

Icky snarled, feeling cold inside. But she made no reply, and stuffed the pouch back in Nibs's face. "Hold onto this. Don't drop it, for god's sake!" Nibs took it, and his eyes widened a little when he heard Tink's weak cries inside. "Don't open it yet either!" the wolf hissed, tucking her arms under the boy's legs again. "The last thing we need is letting her out and then losing her, especially with these freaks on our tails."

"Can they cross the river?" Nibs whispered, hugging the pouch to his chest gently before tucking it into a pocket on the inside of his vest.

"I sure as hell hope not," Icky muttered darkly. "But I'm not sticking around to find out!" And with that, she turned and fled into the woods once more, shuddering inwardly as the cries of the beasts followed them through the dark.

Nibs felt her trembling and hugged her neck tighter. Resting his chin on her shoulder again, he bit his lip hard enough to bleed as several waves of pain raced through him, making his eyes blur. Oh, this was not his idea of a good night.

Behind them, they suddenly heard the crash of bodies throwing themselves into the river, and Icky yelped, muscles tightening in fear. "They're crossing!" Nibs gasped.

"Oh, nuts!" Icky's feet practically flew over the ground as she raced on, every howl and snarl from their pursuers echoing in her ears. She could feel Nibs's heart pounding against her back, the smell of his terror wafting into her nostrils and amplifying her own fright.

The howls grew louder with every second as more of the beasts crawled up on the bank of the river and began the chase once more. Around them the forest was eerily silent, as though it too feared what was coming. Icky and Nibs swept through the bushes, terror screaming in both of their heads as the pounding of feet grew louder and louder.

Just as the enemy lurched into sight – which caused Nibs to scream at the top of his lungs – Icky launched herself through another weave of particularly nasty thorn bushes and into open space. She gasped, freezing for an instant as her eyes scanned the area. With what was probably the greatest howl of victory she ever made, she caught sight of the looming edge of the Were-Forest.

"HAH!" she screamed, nearly making Nibs fall off her back as she surged forward, sprinting across what seemed to be the longest stretch of land the boy had ever seen. He couldn't help himself, he had to look back, and just as they reached the halfway point their pursuers burst from the darkness of the woods, shrieking.

_Not much farther!_ Icky thought wildly, her chest aching from the deep breaths she was taking, the strain of running with extra weight on her back pressing down on her. _Not much farther! Just a bit more!_

"Hurry," Nibs coughed, his head beginning to spin crazily. "They're coming!"

_Damn it Abura, you had better not be sending us to our deaths!_ The werewolf thought dimly as she leapt over a log and splashed through a shallow marsh. Muddy water sprayed up in her wake as she ran, taking no notice of the dim lights that floated within the waters like some weird group of fireflies. The Were-Forest loomed before them, fifty yards away. She could see the branches moving, hear the trees groaning as they began to wake. Nibs's voice in her ear and the muted cries of Tinkerbell urged her on, thrusting the last of her speed into use.

All around them there seemed to be a terrible drumbeat, and everything felt as though it were going in slow motion. Their heartbeats pounded crazily until they matched with every beat, their breath white in the suddenly chill air. They could feel ice forming on their clothes as every muscle in their bodies seemed to freeze, dragging them down.

Seconds passed, and within them Nibs and Icky slipped into the shadows of the Were-Trees, allowing the darkness to swallow them up. And with their passage into shadow, the ice melted, the chill vanished, and all that was left for them was exhaustion and weariness. It was right about then that Icky finally stumbled.

She didn't know what did it, but she felt something catch on her paw and trip her, sending her crashing into the shrubbery. Nibs unceremoniously flew from her back to hit the ground with a painful thud and a cry, rolling wildly until he slammed against a tree and stopped, gasping in pain. The pouch with Tink in it had been flung somewhere into another patch of brambles, but the whole forest could hear her swearing, so it wasn't like she had been lost.

Once her mind stopped spinning, Icky growled and rolled over, dragging herself to her feet. She shook her head, ears flapping a bit, then blinked and looked around. Yelping when she spotted Nibs, she immediately padded over to him and started sniffing the boy, who grunted in pain.

"Nyrrrg…"

The werewolf huffed, fur standing on end as she turned to stare between the trees. Her eyes widened when she saw the beasts almost within the forest, grabbed Nibs harshly by the arm and dragged him to his feet. Nibs cried out in pain.

"Sorry," Icky muttered, trying to pick the boy up again. Unfortunately, her legs gave out on her and the two toppled to the ground again, neither of them going without small cries of surprise and pain. "Aw, shit!"

Nibs cried softly, wrapping his arms around his ribs. His shoes had ripped open to expose paw-like feet, claws and all. The stub of a tail he had earlier was half at the length it would be when the transformation finished, and already his ears had turned wolf-like and furry. Not to mention he had a layer of soft, gold fur where most of his skin had been before.

Icky swore again. "Fuck!" Her head snapped about, eyes widening again as their pursuers entered the forest, bearing down on them. Quickly pushing Nibs away from her, she staggered to her feet and drew a spear from her belt. _We are so fucked,_ she thought, as adrenaline rushed through her system, fighting her exhaustion. _We are so, so fucked!_

"Icky!" Nibs hissed, opening his eyes briefly.

"Not now!" the werewolf cried, raising her spear in preparation for battle.

Suddenly, just as the horde was upon them, a loud roar echoed throughout the Were-Forest. Icky looked up just in time to see an enormous vine come flying out of nowhere, the tip stabbing into the breast of the first beast to pounce. It shrieked and fell back, blood spurting every which way as its heart was ruptured.

Icky jumped back with a small cry of surprise and fear as more vines and branches tore from the overhang of leaves above them, shooting towards the monsters like lightning. Astonished eyes watched as demented bodies were ripped apart, pieces flying in all directions. Arms, legs, and heads were severed from the monster's bodies and pinned to the ground, or to other trees. Blood stained the grass as entrails exploded this way and that, soaking everything in gore.

Icky threw herself down over Nibs to protect him as another beast charged, and was promptly killed as a vine thrust between its jaws and exited the other end in a shower of blood and other nasty liquids. Roars thundered throughout the Were-Forest as the trees came alive, howling their anger to the skies as they picked off Saxon's minions one by one, yet never seeming to take notice of Icky and Nibs.

The two huddled in the shadow of one particularly pissed off tree, who knew they were there but didn't really care all that much. The two watched as the tree disposed of one creature after another, their eyes bulging out of their sockets as the minions who remained made vain attempts to flee.

"What…is going on?" Nibs whispered, huddling against Icky, his eyes as wide as saucers. Icky could only shake her head, watching as the last few beasts were brought down and left in shreds upon the forest floor.

"I've no idea…" _Is this why you sent us here, Abura?_ She thought.

Nibs shifted uncomfortably, pressing the palm of his hand against the side of his face. His whole body ached like mad, and he felt rather…well, weird. And there was something painful poking him in the back of his pants. Leaning away from Icky for a moment, Nibs fought the tremble in his body as he twisted himself around to see just what was poking him.

"………"

Icky turned her head as Nibs let out a small gasp. She frowned at first, but then her face took on an expression that translated into the words 'uh-oh' in english.

Bleary eyes peered intensely at the gold and white tail that emerged from a rather large rip in the seat of Nibs's pants. It began to wag, slowly at first, sweeping the ground as it went back and forth, and Nibs felt a rather large drop of sweat slide down his cheek. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"I guess I should have mentioned that," Icky muttered, as Nibs let out a shriek that she was sure the entire island could hear.

* * *

_Author's Note: Next chapter - Night Mares and Dream Snakes! Feel the evil of Saxon! View the insanity of Abura! Watch as Slightly and co flee, and Icky and Nibs... well, you'll see. Bwahaha_. 


	13. Night Mares & Dream Snakes Part One

Author's Notes: After an age of hiatus, it's back! Er, sort of. Anyone still hanging in here can thank health-critic; they left such a lovely review that it finally clicked in that I never did remember to upload this chapter (again, four parts) and the next (another four parts) - both of which were/have been already written. Those updates will probably be once a week, or every two weeks. I'll try to draw it out in an effort to begin the next chapter I'd planned on doing, so I can actually finish this bloody thing. XD

And, to answer some questions health-critic had: This is based less on the novel and more on the 90's cartoon show by Fox (Fox's Peter Pan and the Pirates). The Were-Forest, Were-Trees, Tintagel, Small Monday Island, Oberon and Gloriana, and a host of others appeared in the show, which deviates from the novel a LOT. Unfortunately, it's difficult (if not impossible) to find/acquire the episodes these days; although there is a small community of fans at The Pirate's Cove forum that you can visit and ask questions of, if you like. ( .com ) It's not enormously active, but it's there.

Also: I highly recommend Peter Pan in Scarlet (the sequel to JM Barrie's novel). Personally, I liked it way more than the original. ;)

Now, ON TO THE FIC!

* * *

**Part Four: Night Mares and Dream Snakes**

1/4

Slightly awoke to the feeling of a horde of termites crawling around in his brain. His scalp itched and his body felt weak and jittery, goosebumps spotting his flesh. His hands shook as he sat up, rubbing his face to bring the feeling back to it. Quick breaths slipping in and out of his lips as his heart thundered in his chest. The dreams – or, nightmares – danced just behind his eyes, sticking in the front of his mind as he came to awareness.

The fire was still burning, if a bit dimmer than it had been earlier when he first fell asleep. He could see Hard-To-Hit laying curled up in a small blanket nearby, his brow furrowed as he dreamed of things Slightly didn't know. Billy was asleep on his right, his face oddly clear of any emotion. For once he looked at peace, unlike how he usually was when he was awake. Slightly almost envied him at that moment.

_Why can't my dreams be of nothing?_ He wondered sourly. _Why did I have to dream of that—_ A heavy shudder washed through him as he remembered the nightmares he had had. Quickly, he thrust the memories aside and got to his feet, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. He could see Pyewacket sitting at the mouth of the cave, and in a moment of loneliness, decided to join him.

The brownie glanced up as Slightly approached, limping. "Hey, Boss, "Pyewacket said quietly. "What are you doing up?"

"Had nightmares," Slightly replied, easing himself down next to the rock his brownie friend sat on.

"Doesn't surprise me, after today," Pyewacket murmured. "I had a few myself."

For a few long minutes, the two sat there, silent. Their minds wandered to their own troubles and woes, even their own nightmares. And though both of them wanted to talk, neither of them wanted to remember. So they said nothing of it, and for that they were both grateful and, to an extent, disappointed.

High above them, a hole appeared in the clouds to allow a beam of moonlight to shine down upon a hill in the distance. The two followed it with their eyes, trying to take some comfort from the natural light. Suddenly, Slightly stiffened and sat up.

"What's that?" he whispered.

Pyewacket's eyes followed the boy's finger to where it pointed, at the hill. He squinted, and then stared. "Heh," he chuckled softly. "Didn't think I'd see her, but it makes sense."

A dark shape had come trotting up to the top of the hill, just beyond the patch of moonlight. It danced about, kicking up its heels as it let out cries that echoed through the darkness. Magic hung upon it like a cloak, stars glittered through translucent flesh that rippled beautifully with every spin and move it made. A loud whinny came to Slightly's ears, and he stared in amazement as mist and stardust sprayed up from where its feet touched the ground.

"Who…what is that?" the boy asked in awe.

"Minuit," Pyewacket said. "The Night Mare." The brownie removed his cap for a moment to scratch his head, replacing it quickly. "She really only comes out at night, very rarely during the day. She is the bearer of bad dreams. When you have a nightmare, she's never far away." He smiled wanly. "Seeing as we both had nightmares tonight, I'm not surprised to see her."

"I've slightly never seen her before," Slightly said softly, watching as the mare traipsed about on the hill.

"She doesn't like to be seen," Pyewacket replied. "Especially by humans. I hear that she thinks if they knew she brought them the nightmares, they would blame her for it." He glanced sideways at the boy. "She doesn't make them, she just delivers 'em."

"Then who makes them?"

The brownie shrugged. "I've no idea."

"Huh." Slightly wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself, watching as Minuit circled the patch of light, playing with it. "What's she doing that for?"

Again, Pyewacket shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she just wants to play?"

"Hmmm." Slightly leaned against the rock, propping his chin in the palm of one hand. He smiled a little as he watched her. "She's slightly pretty."

"Yeah," Pyewacket agreed.

They continued to sit in silence, content to just watch as the Night Mare frolicked about in the patch of moonlight, singing her joy into the darkened skies. For just a few minutes, both of them forgot the horrors they had seen not so long ago, the terrors that came to them in their dreams, and the fear of what they would be facing on the morrow. For just a few minutes they enjoyed the magical performance before them, pretending she was doing it just for them.

For just a few minutes, they were content.

And Minuit continued to play, her eyes often wandering to the two companions sitting in the mouth of the cave. She had no other way to apologize to them, and so she danced just for them. For just a few minutes.

* * *

This was all just a dream. A very bad, bad dream.

The mouth of the gate yawned before her as Wendy was pressed along by her boys - her brothers! - and a horde of nightmarish things taking up the rear. A tiny little mouse wearing a sombrero led the way, bouncing in excitement as the group marched somberly forward. Wendy sobbed into her hands, feeling alone and at a loss to what to do. She had already tried talking to the boys, but their eyes and hearts remained hidden from her, stuffed into their cores by the slugs that rode them.

She could almost feel the stone beneath her feet throbbing with evil, as the walls pulsed as though they had a heart that beat within them. Terrible images of slaughters hung from the ceiling upon tapestries that made her shudder, and she purposely avoided looking at the severed heads that lined the hall like trophies. She did, however, pause to stare in horror at the emaciated bodies of fairies sewn into a rug, like some sick sort of collage. The worst part of it was that quite a few of them were still alive.

The tip of a spear poked her in the spine, urging her onward.

Trying to retain her dignity, even as she cried, the girl lifted up her chin as she was marched on through a set of stone doors, past the guards who glared at her through dead eyes and beyond two large figures carved into stone on either side of her. Had she looked, or had she cared, Wendy would have noticed their eyes following her, gleaming gold in the darkness. Stone wings shifted minutely before settling back, eyes continuing to watch the girl as she stepped beyond the thin line between freedom and captivity.

Ahead of her, Wendy could see a dark throne sitting amongst shadows darker than she had ever seen before. A strange figure sat upon it, tapping his fingers lightly to make his own weird little drumbeat in time to Wendy's approach. Eyes that very nearly pulsated with hate narrowed as the girl was stopped just before she reached the stairs that led up to his throne. A wicked smile played across his face.

"Greetings, Miss. Wendy."

Wendy lifted her chin. Manners were still important, even in times like these. "Hello."

"How are you this night?"

"I could be much better," the girl replied darkly. She pointed to her brothers and the Lost Boys, who had gone to stand off to her left in a row, faces blank. "Would you care to explain what has been done to my boys?"

A low chuckle answered. "I have shown them the light," said the person. "I assure you, they are in no way under any duress or in any pain. They are simply…sleeping."

Wendy narrowed her eyes. "I would appreciate it if you wake them up now, sir," she said in a clipped tone. "They are my boys and I want them back."

"Hah!" She could see the figure shifting ever so slightly, leaning forward a bit as though to get a better look at her. "I am truly sorry, Miss. Wendy. But I can't do that. You see, I need them for my own purpose, and until I get what I want, they will stay with me." He smirked. "And so shall you."

Lifting her head high, the girl's eyes flashed. "And what do you want with me?" she demanded, though her heart fluttered in fear. "Or my boys? There is nothing we could possibly do for you, sir, that you obviously cannot do for yourself!" She waved a hand at the beasts that surrounded her. "Aren't these good enough for you?"

"No." The figure growled, then coughed lightly. "Their purpose is for something other than what I need you for. So, obviously, they aren't good enough."

Wendy scowled, unbecomingly of a lady. "I am sorry, but I demand you release my boys and I immediately! I want nothing to do with you, and I'm sure if they were in control of themselves, they would agree!"

A snort followed that. "How do you know?" the figure asked snidely. "How do you know they aren't kissing the ground I walk upon in their minds right now? How can you speak for them when they are unable to speak for themselves? Making choices for those who have no voice, or cannot make choices for themselves. That, my dear, is abuse of power."

Wendy gasped, offended. "How dare you!"

"I dare because I can!" the figure snapped, reaching one hand out of the shadows to swipe at Wendy angrily. The girl gasped upon seeing the gnarly limb, covering her mouth in horror and stepping back. "I dare because I have the power, and I do not care about you, or your precious boys." A smirk was in his voice now, and Wendy shuddered. "I have plans for them, and for you, Miss. Wendy. Many, many plans. Especially for you."

Wendy's eyes widened as two pairs of bloated, nasty hands grabbed her arms, holding her still as she began to struggle. Tears once again began to fall from her eyes as the figure began to cackle madly, the sound grating in her ears and bringing goosebumps to her flesh. "What do you want?" the girl cried, looking to her boys for a moment.

"I want you," was the reply. "I want you to suffer. I want your boys to suffer. I want you, and your precious boys to make Pan suffer. All of you, all of you will scream, and writhe beneath my fingers!" The hand reached out again, turning palm-up to clench into a sick fist. Terrible eyes glittered viciously and a crooked smile flashed at the girl, who began to tremble violently. "Just the thought of anything happening to you has already caused Pan much torment. I wonder what he would do if you were truly being tortured?"

"What have you done to Peter?!" Wendy shouted, suddenly full of even more terror than she originally thought possible. She could only stare in horror as the beast within the darkness burst into maniacal laughter.

"What haven't I done?" he howled. "Only the worst that one such as I can do to an infernal hell-brat like him!"

"You monster!" Wendy screamed, struggling in the grip of her captor's again. To no avail, however, as they only tightened their grips until they bruised. The girl began to sob again. "Oh, you beast! You horrible, horrible beast! What have you done!"

"You will see, soon enough," he replied darkly. "And when you do, you will be the one experiencing the agony and torment that awaits your precious Pan! And he shall come to me like a fly into the spider's lair, just for you." A cruel smile tweaked his face again, morphing it into something even uglier than what it already was. "You can only blame yourself, Miss. Wendy, for what awaits Peter Pan. You are the bait, he is the prey, and I…I am the hunter."

"Who are you?" Wendy cried, as her captors tugged on her arms, dragging her slowly away. As she was pulled, a rather frightening looking fairy glided over to the throne, casting a dim gray light on the person upon it. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as she finally got a good look at him, and her scream shattered the eerie stillness of the hall.

"They call me Saxon, Miss. Wendy," the cripple hissed, waving at her mockingly as she was dragged through an archway. "But soon, all will refer to me as Master."

As the heavy doors of the archway closed, all Wendy could see was her boys, standing so quietly in line, like sheep waiting for the slaughter.

_Oh, Peter!_

* * *

Icky had never been slapped before.

She'd been punched, stabbed, kicked, thrown, whipped, pushed and stomped on, but never, as far as she could remember, had she been slapped. And so, as her brain attempted to register the shock she felt at having a humanoid hand strike her cheek, her first reaction was to stare blankly at Nibs's tear-streaked face. Her brain rolled the scenario over and over again as the blonde began to scream at her as loud as he could – which wasn't all that loud considering how crappy he felt – and beat at her with his fists.

"Why didn't you say anything! What were you thinking? Why? Why?! How could you! You've let me become a freak!"

At this, Icky's shock snapped in half and her hand whipped out to strike Nibs's face, catching his fists with her other hand. A low, threatening growl rose from deep in her chest as her hackles exploded like porcupine quills. Fangs flashed as she pushed the boy up against the tree they were huddled against, snarling in his face.

"You little swine," she hissed, grabbing him by the throat. "How dare you accuse me of this!" She shoved her knee between his legs and leaned in close as Nibs gasped and choked, his eyes widening. "How dare you accuse me of being a freak?!"

"I never—"

"SHUT UP!"

Nibs gasped, fear fluttering up in his chest as saliva sprayed onto his face from the werewolf's sudden outburst. But he fell into a frightened silence.

"Now you listen here, human," Icky snarled. "My kind are not freaks! So don't even think that that is what you are becoming! Werewolves are as natural as any human, any animal – we were here before you! Just because you think the lot of us are bloodthirsty animals bent on devouring the human race doesn't make it true! And don't you dare to blame this all on me!" She tightened her grip briefly. "Would you have rather me left you to die? Would you have preferred it if you were left to that spider thing? Did you want to be eaten?"

"It would have been better than this!" Nibs choked, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"NO! It wouldn't have!" Icky shoved him against the tree again, hard. Then she stepped back, ears flattened back against her skull. "Do you think I'm a freak? Am I so fucking evil?!" She did a pirouette, showing herself off to the boy. "Do I seem as terrible as those things back there?! I saved your worthless life, human! I could have left you to die, alone, being devoured alive by that disgusting eight-legged monster! Or I could have abandoned you to them!" She stabbed a finger at the corpses of the beasts that had been struck down by the Were-Trees.

"But no, I didn't! I could have been killed, I could have been eaten, I saved your life and here you are, whining like the pathetic human baby you are just because you've grown half a tail!" She snarled, eyes flashing. "Being a werewolf isn't the horror you think it is, boy! I'd rather be

human than dead, and coming from me that means a whole lot more than your stupid brain can understand!"

Growling viciously, Icky turned and stomped to the bush where Tinkerbell's pouch was still buried. Thrusting her hand in, she snatched the pouch out and thundered back to Nibs, tossing it at him. Tink screeched from inside and Nibs stared at Icky. "There's your stupid fairy! I could have let her die, too!"

"Icky—" Nibs started to say, but she interrupted.

"SHUT UP!" Icky panted, her eyes wild. "I am not a freak!"

"I—"

"I'm NOT!"

"Icky, I never said—"

"SHUT UP, HUMAN!"

To Nibs's surprise, Icky was almost in tears. "I risk my life for you, a life I treasure very much and this is the thanks I get?! To be named a freak? Oh no, wait, you never said I was a freak, did you? You said you were turning into a freak. Oh, that makes it right, then, doesn't it? Saying

you're turning into a freak implies that I am a freak, since you're changing into something a hell of a lot like me!" She shook her head viciously, baring her teeth. "Why must humans always think of something that's not like them as a monster or something unnatural? Can't you understand that there's nothing wrong with it?"

Nibs stared in utter astonishment as Icky dropped to her knees, breathing heavily. She lowered her head until her hair shielded her face from view, and it was about then that Tink managed to crawl out of the pouch to tumble down on Nibs's lap. The boy took little notice of her, however, as his attention was focused on the wolf before him.

"Icky…"

"Just…just shut up, human."

Nibs shivered, feeling blood pounding through his veins. His head hurt, from the venom, from the yelling, from everything. "I'm…sorry."

"Are you deaf?" Icky hissed, albeit weakly. "I said shut up."

"I didn't mean it to sound like that," Nibs said, almost in tears himself. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want to talk to you," Icky whispered. "So just take a hint, shut your trap."

"Icky…"

"Peter?" Nibs glanced down, his eyes widening a bit as Tink sat up, rubbing her head as she wobbled back and forth weakly. "Peter…where is…Peter…?"

"Tink," Nibs whispered, picking her up gently. "Are you alright?"

Tinkerbell moaned, falling to her knees in the cusp of the boy's palms. "I…where is Peter, I have to find him…"

"He's on the Jolly Roger," Nibs said quickly, glancing up to see Icky still sitting where she had been, her shoulders shaking and head still bowed. "I…something is wrong with him."

The little pixie moaned again, collapsing completely. Her head rested on the boy's thumb, her hands clenched into fists. "Oh, Nibs…look at you…"

The boy winced. "I-I know, Tink," he said softly. "But…it was the only way…" His eyes slid back to Icky, who was now sitting up, ears flattened. She watched him, her face carefully blank, exposing nothing. "The spider-thing got me…Icky saved me."

Tink rolled her head around to stare at Icky, her face expressing some surprise. "Werewolf," she murmured. "Never thought…"

"Tink…Peter's on the Jolly Roger. I…had to leave him with Hook. Something happened, and Hook made me come look for you." Nibs's eyes kept jumping from Icky to Tink, not sure who to focus on.

"He…oh." Tink seemed at a loss for words for a moment. "I…where was I? I can't remember…"

"Side-effects," Icky said gruffly, catching both their attentions. "The spider bit you, too. You're still weak from the poison. You probably won't remember until it leaves your system and your head clears."

Tink frowned weakly. "Oh…fiddlesticks."

There was silence for a few long moments as the Were-Trees moaned to each other, shifting their branches into more comfortable positions. Though both Icky and Nibs felt like they ought to fear the trees, neither of them did. It seemed that maybe the trees had more important enemies to deal with, as they did.

A few more minutes passed, then Icky sighed. "Ah…I guess…I should go, then." She didn't sound very happy about it, though.

Nibs's head shot up and he stared at her. "What?"

"I did my job," she muttered, mostly to herself. Then she said a little more loudly, "Look, Nibs. I…don't really see any reason for me to hang around any longer. You're alive, the Were-Trees seem to be on some weird protective streak, and you have your little fairy pal there to yap at. So I might as well just go."

"Hey…hey!" Nibs said as Icky started getting to her feet. "Wait…"

"What for?" the werewolf asked, sounding depressed. "You don't need me anymore. I'm about as useless as a log. And I have better things to do." _Besides,_ she thought. _My job is done. Abura only asked me to get you here, he never told me to stay._

"…but…I do…"

The words made her pause mid-step as she began to walk away. Glancing back, her eyebrow rose as she got a good look at the boy. He was mid-transformation, still weak, and there were tears in his eyes. "What?" Icky asked, trying to keep any and all emotion out of her tone.

"I do need you," Nibs said. "You're…you're my friend."

"Friends don't call friends a freak," Icky said darkly.

"I'm sorry," Nibs whispered, tears brimming in his eyes again. "I didn't mean to. You're not a freak, and you're not useless. I need you to stay…I can't…" These words were hard for him, as he really didn't like asking anyone for help or admitting his weaknesses. But, as much as he hated it, he wasn't so proud as to ignore it when he really did need help. "I can't make it by myself. Tink…she's still hurt. Those things are still out there. And…"

Icky's ears remained flattened, but her body language had relaxed, if only a little bit. "And?"

"I don't want to be alone."

Something about the way he said it caused something in the back of Icky's mind to race back to a time and place where she had been alone and afraid. With sudden vividness, she recalled the night her village had been destroyed, before she clamped down on those memories and shook her head, drowning out the screams of her kin with the pounding of her own heart.

Almost mechanically, she said, "Being alone is part of the job description for my kind."

"It's not for mine," Nibs almost whispered.

A sigh escaped the werewolf's lips, and she was quiet for what seemed to Nibs to be an eternity. "Alright," she said finally, in a voice almost too soft to be heard. "I'll stay."

Nibs smiled, leaning back against the tree. Tink leaned on his belly, closing her eyes and listening to the boy's heartbeat as she attempted to gain more of her strength back. "Thank you," Nibs said, resting his hands on the ground.

"Yeah."

_You never told me what to do after I got them here, Abura. Was this what you had in mind, or something else?_

_

* * *

To be continued.... dun dun dun....  
_


	14. Night Mares & Dream Snakes Part Two

_Author's Note: Yaye, an update! Well, this is still old stuff; bear with me for the next couple of chapters, the plot will pick up... eventually. XD_

* * *

Part Four: Night Mares and Dream Snakes

2/4

Wendy wasn't the type of girl to be influenced forever by first impressions. She liked to give second chances, because she believed in the kindness of people and thought they deserved it, if it was asked. However, her first impression of Saxon and the room his beastly little servants had locked her in was a foul one – one that she refused to change her mind about. And as tears coursed down her cheeks and sobs echoed within her little dungeon, all she could do was hate him more than she hated anything else in the world.

With every taunt and jeer she received from the guards on the other side of the bars – nasty jibes on her gender and how loud she was being, mostly – she hated the position she was in with even more fervor. Dusty hay was her bed and blanket, spider webs her curtains, and a sick smell of rot and decay filtering through her nose did little to comfort her. And across the way she could see another cell filled to the brim with dying goblins, gnomes, and other faerie ilk – stuffed into the cage like pickles in a jar they were, none of them able to move aside from the occasional twitch of a limb or blinking, agonized eyes.

The sight made her shudder, and she was glad they hadn't put her in there.

Cries for help and misery-filled moans echoed throughout the dungeon, while those who had just been recently captured or whose spirits and will hadn't been annihilated yet cursed and spat the name of Saxon in foul tongues. Wendy didn't know how many times the captives incited the guards to attend them – or how many shrieks of pain made her wince and cry even harder when the guards did get at them – but she didn't like it one little bit.

In the cell on her left, an emaciated unicorn stood with its head bowed, flanks shuddering violently every few seconds. It rolled a red-rimmed eye at her, and she refused to look at the ribs that jutted out from its sides and the veins that pulsed beneath dusty, dying flesh. A few times it had tried to speak to her, but all it could manage was disjointed, nonsensical images being dumped randomly into Wendy's mind, which caused the girl to wail and scuttle to the other side of her cell.

So she sat, and she cried, curled up in the shadows with her face in her hands. There was a window above her, rusty bars preventing any entrance or escape, but she didn't dare to look out of it – there were some terrible noises coming from the other side, and she had seen unnaturally long, clawed fingers tapping at the bars when she was first tossed inside.

When her tears finally ebbed just a little, and the taunts of the guards were focused on someone – or something – else, Wendy sat back and closed her eyes, her mind wandering to the one thing she feared for most: her boys. John, Michael, Nibs, Curly, the Twins, Tootles, Slightly…and Peter.

_Oh, Peter,_ she thought as a fresh batch of tears formed in her eyes. _Where are you? Where are my boys? What has that beast done to all of you?_

Images of the boys flashed in her mind, scenes playing against her closed eyelids as she thought of each and every one of them. Nibs and Slightly arguing, Tootles gobbling down her special Neverberry cakes, Curly laughing like a loon after one of his pranks, the Twins bent together over one of their new inventions, John and Michael playing tag and laughing merrily, Peter releasing a triumphant crow as he flew away from the Jolly Roger, leaving behind a rather peeved Captain Hook…

Where were they now? Some were in this very castle, she knew, but it was only their bodies. Whatever had taken control of them were nothing more than wretched beasts! But the others…Nibs, Peter, Tootles, and Slightly. What had become of them? That…that monster had told her he was hurting Peter. How? Peter wasn't here, in this terrible castle, was he?

_Oh, I hope not,_ Wendy fretted inwardly, clutching her skirt.

A low, crackling whinny sounded softly to her from the cage on her left, and Wendy looked. As quickly as she did, she looked away – the unicorn's state hurt her, made her ill. It whinnied again, even more softly.

_Pan…_

Wendy gasped, her hands flying up to her cheeks as an image of Peter flashed before her eyes. He was lying in a bed, a blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head to cover his eyes as Smee leaned over him, tucking blankets gently around him.

_Is that where Peter is?_ The girl wondered, her eyes growing wide. _On the Jolly Roger?_

A horrific scream yanked her from her thoughts, and she turned to see the unicorn being whipped viciously by the guards. She gasped as the beast lurched against the shackles that held it, rearing back as its eyes rolled wildly and foam sprayed from its lips.

"Oh, leave it alone!" Wendy cried as blood exploded from the gashes the whips made on the unicorn's skin. It shrieked again, pinning back its ears and throwing its body against the bars between their cells. "Oh, please!"

All down the hall voices were rising, cheering the unicorn on as it screamed, bending the bars a little further every time its body impacted with them. Somewhere, on a different level of hearing than she was used to, Wendy could hear the animal screaming in a voice and language she could understand.

_Help me!_

"Stop it!" Wendy shrieked at the guards.

_Please, help me! It hurts!_

"Oh!" Wendy clutched at her cheeks, tears streaming down her face once more.

_HELP ME! IT HURTS! IT HURTS! HELP ME! HELP MEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

The voice in her head suddenly went from understandable to mindless screaming. Wendy screamed too, clamping her hands over her ears. Too busy was she trying to silence the cries that she didn't see the unicorn's body spasm, blood bursting from between its jaws to spray across the cage. Its horn flashed white, then red, then to an ugly shade of black as an uncontrollable shiver rushed through its body. It threw its head back and let out a keening wail as its legs buckled and it dropped with a dull thud to the floor.

Wendy was still screaming even after the unicorn had stopped. Her heart was thundering wildly in her breast, even after the once-beautiful creature's heart slowed to a crawl, and then froze. Her eyes remained closed even as the guards chopped the unicorn's body to pieces, shoving them through the bars of the cell across the way. Mouths strained towards the remains, hands twitched as each of the prisoners moaned and gnashed their teeth, hoping for their first meal in weeks.

By the time Wendy's screams ceased and her eyes opened, all that was left of the unicorn was a large streak of blood on the floor. And in the cell, the faerie folk licked their lips and wailed to themselves, both mourning and celebrating over the creature's death.

Thankfully, Wendy never did figure out what _really_ happened to the unicorn. Ignorance truly is bliss, sometimes…even with the evidence in front of her, she spent the rest of her days thinking the poor thing had been given a proper burial.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Wendy, a pair of dark eyes watched her coolly from behind the bars of the window above. Abura stood on the windowsill, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the girl, his face an expressionless mask. His mind, on the other hand, was spinning wildly, weaving the girl's presence in the castle into the mad tapestry of plans that wrapped about his mind.

_(…and the bait is laid; the king shall come…)_

Abura's eyes narrowed into slits. Turning away from the window, he cast a small spell upon it, guarding it from the dark things that crawled within the abyss he floated within. Fluttering his wings and leaving a trail of grayish-black magic sparkling behind him, Abura soared up to the topmost window, and out. He glanced around only briefly, before making his way through the long, shadowy halls of Saxon's palace to his own little corner of hell.

Once again he went to his cauldron, looking into the black waters within it. His eyes narrowed again, but a smirk tugged at his lips. "Ai, it eez time," he whispered. He put a toe to the water, then his whole foot. He began to walk in circles on top of the murky waters, watching as each step created a ripple that swept out to mingle with the others.

_(…and the storm rises; darkflame sings…)_

Black mist whispered up, surrounding him as he continued to walk almost leisurely in circles. His wings sparkled dimly and his eyes began to glow with a near-feral light as his mind slid over the Text in his mind. "It eez time," Abura whispered again, watching the waters closely as dark lightning-like sparks of electric magic flickered within them.

The scent of fire and salt air filtered into his nose as his pace increased, the water within the cauldron torn into a near-frenzy. It bubbled and foamed like a rabid animal, until a loud – POP! – sounded and Abura leapt back, fluttering his wings to stay aloft above the roiling mist. He hovered there for a few minutes, watching as the waters continued to swirl and the spell was slowly coming into completion.

It ended swiftly enough, and when it had, the dark fairy nodded, mostly to himself. "Da, eez good." Then, in a swift flash of fangs, "So leetle time, so much to do! Ai!"

A raucous burst of crazed laughter bounced throughout the room as Abura zipped away from the cauldron and out the door, the plans he had in his mind slowly tightening the noose around a certain someone's throat.

* * *

Bustopher wasn't stupid. He knew the second his jaws clamped down on one of the dwarves that something was seriously, disgusting wrong with it. Especially when his tongue slid across the slimy, pulsing body of a slug. To say the least, Bustopher had no intention of eating any of the dwarves that had come into his treasury – in fact, he didn't even want to bite them in half. So instead of using his teeth on them, he squished them with his sinuous, snake-like body.

Of course, he had to deal with the _kuyuri_ first, but that was swiftly dealt with. In all his draconian years he had never left a corpse in his treasury – now he had a few hundred strewn across his jewel piles, staining gold red with thick blood. He wanted to get rid of them, but the slugs he saw on their necks caused a shudder to run through him – his heart told him they were dangerous, even to him.

So instead of touching them, he dug trenches around their bodies, allowing the dwarves to roll unceremoniously into the holes. As soon as they were all tucked nicely into their graves, Bustopher began the slow process of rolling the _kuyuri_ out the door. As far as he could see, it had no slug on it so he wasn't too worried about that. However, the beast was pretty large and though Bustopher was no runt, he still had some difficulty in removing the blasted thing from his precious treasury.

By the time he was done, his home looked much like it had before – aside from the bloodstains and rumpled piles of gold and jewels that lay strewn about. That irritated the dragon – all those years of setting his home up to perfection, lost in one night by a bunch of stupid dwarves and a _kuyuri_. Bastards. Had they no sense of respect when in someone else's home?

_Apparently not,_ he thought irritably, sweeping his tail across the floor to drag the scattered piles back into some semblance of order. _Of course, they're just dwarves. Crude things that they are, I can't really expect them to know how to behave themselves._

_But then,_ he mused as he curled his tail around himself and raised his head to survey the room. _They didn't seem like they were in their right minds at all._ His eyes narrowed a bit, and he bowed his head to sniff at the bloodstains on the floor. _Not themselves at all…_

A sudden thought crossed his mind: _I wonder what day it is?_

He wasn't entirely sure why he suddenly thought of that. After all, dragons didn't really care for the date, or the time – they lived in the moment, and Bustopher was no exception to that rule. On the other hand, he was the only living dragon left in Neverland – ignoring the dragon rock with the sword in it, of course – and he had a very specific reason to be guarding his treasury. The problem was, he realized sourly, he had forgotten that reason.

Sniffing disdainfully, Bustopher scowled at the room. Sometimes he really hated being a dragon, simply for the fact that when a dragon sleeps, they sleep for about a hundred years. To them, a hundred years is little more than a normal human night of snoozing. Still, he realized with a snort, even if it was a mere night's sleep for him, all those years had taken their toll on his brain.

He couldn't remember why he was so possessively protective of his treasury, but he did remember where he could find out. A wicked smile played across Bustopher's face, flashing thousands of fangs in his great maw. Quickly, he turned and slithered towards the northern wall, pressing his nose into a rather large bit of velvet drapery he vaguely remember posting up a long time ago. Using his muzzle to shove it aside, he felt along the wall behind it with his nose, sometimes flicking out his tongue to see if what he was looking for was still there.

At first he was starting to get a little angry, as he couldn't find it. But with a triumphant "AHA!" he thrust his head into the old tunnel he had made so many years ago, using the spikes on his long body to propel him forward. The drapery slid back into place as his tail slipped through the hole, effectively hiding what he had found as Bustopher streaked through the earth, huffing a bit as he moved towards the end.

He turned a rather sharp corner and grinned to himself as he saw the gaping hole that signaled the end of the tunnel. A dim light burned within, and he poked his head out into open space, checking for any intruders before his body fully exited the tunnel. He raised his head high, dark eyes peering around the room in what appeared to be suspicion, but was really just remembrance.

In the centre of the room, a tall black candle sat, burning. Bustopher growled as his mind searched for the reason why the candle was burning when obviously no one had been in there for at least a hundred years. The weird thing about it was that the wax was fresh, as though it had just been lit. Bustopher circled it, narrowing his eyes as he stuck his face in close. He sniffed, but not once did the flame flicker – rather, it almost seemed to grow.

Drawing back, the dragon peered at it curiously, his eyes following the trails of wax as they slid down to the floor. He frowned a little, noticing some odd markings on the floor, and his eyes moved to follow them out and away from the candle. He looked around, one brow ridge quirking up as he noticed seven lines of writing, perfectly spaced apart, beginning at the candle and moving away towards the walls. His brow ridge raised further as he looked closer, and noticed seven stone sarcophagi carved into each of the seven walls.

And on each of the seven walls…

Bustopher's eyes widened, and then narrowed. _So, _that's _why…_

* * *

Billy's sleep was interrupted in a most annoying way by hands that took hold of his shoulders and shook him, hard. A worried voice spoke rapidly into his ears and the youth cracked open one bleary eye to peer into the anxious face of Slightly, whose mouth moved with words the gunner couldn't quite figure yet.

"Billy – have to go – hurry, wake up!"

The gunner groaned, feeling the gashes on his back protest as he slowly shoved his body into a sitting position. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, frowning. "Slightly…? What's going on?" he mumbled as the blonde boy took hold of his upper arm and tugged hurriedly, dragging Billy to his feet.

"Billy, we slightly have to leave now," Slightly said, and it was right about then that Billy heard Pyewacket's voice cry incredulously,

"An army of _what_ is gathering _where_?!"

Shaking his head as Slightly pulled him gently towards the mouth of the cave, Billy resisted the urge to question the presence of a rather large gray wolf, who he identified dimly as Wendy's friend, Neko. Hard-To-Hit glanced over at him, then nodded to Slightly as the boy continued gripping Billy's arm as though he were afraid to let go.

"An army of animals and dark elves are gathering a mile north of here," the Indian boy repeated, mostly for Billy's benefit. "The animals are slugged, and the elves…" He shuddered, and looked at the wolf. "Neko says they are dressed and prepared for battle. They are also slugged."

Billy's eyes widened and Slightly trembled a bit. Neko wuffed, looking between the three boys with what seemed to be concern in his golden eyes. Hard-To-Hit nodded and translated.

"He knows of many hidden paths through the woods where most beasts do not tread. He will lead us back to the mainland, and safety, and will guard us while we sleep if it becomes necessary." The wolf wuffed again, and Hard-To-Hit chewed his lip. "We must leave now, he says. From what he saw, it seems the army is preparing to set out within the next few hours."

"Shot and shale," Billy whispered, rubbing his forehead. "This isn't good."

"I would say not," Hard-To-Hit said grimly as he turned and fetched his bow and arrows. When he returned, his face was that of a warrior's mask. "But we have no choice. There are too few of us here, and there are thousands of them. At the least, we must find help." He looked at Slightly. "We should probably find Peter and the other Lost Boys, they may be able to even the odds, if only by a little."

At the mention of his friends, the blonde winced inwardly. Somehow, he felt that they wouldn't be able to help him this time. But, refusing to voice his doubts and bring whatever hope they all had down, he nodded. "Yes, let's go. Peter may know what to do."

Billy raised an eyebrow. _Peter may know what to do?_ He thought. _Doesn't Peter always know what to do? You doubt him, Slightly?_

"Even if Pan does know what we have to do, it doesn't change the fact that we don't have the manpower we need to get it done," Billy muttered, mostly to himself. Hard-To-Hit scowled.

"Well, what do you propose then? Sit here and wait for that army to come down on us and kill us? Or even worse, become one of their slaves?"

"No!" Billy snarled. "What I am saying, is that we should be realistic about this. Even if we do find Pan and the Lost Boys, who's to say they won't already be slugged? Or what if they're not there when we arrive? I'm not saying we should sit here and die, I'm saying we need a better plan than running around Neverland like chickens with our heads cut off!" He winced a little at the pale shade that came over Slightly's face at the thought of his family being under the slug's control. "Slightly, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No…" Slightly bit his lip, looking worriedly between both boys. "But you have a slight point. We do need more help." He glanced pleadingly at Hard-To-Hit. "Even if we can get to the mainland, how can we do it as we are? Billy and I are still hurt. We can manage," he said quickly as the gunner started to protest, "but we're not at our best. We…I slightly don't think we can do this alone, Hard-To-Hit."

The Indian boy frowned, and sighed. "I know…" Neko barked lightly, drawing the boys' attention to him. Hard-To-Hit frowned some more, and then smiled a little. "Neko says he will help us to find more help, and to find Peter and the others. There's not a lot he can do, but he will try."

Billy sighed, curling his hand around Slightly's as a wave of fear washed over him. "It's good to know we have one more ally," he said softly. Slightly smiled nervously at him.

"Yeah…" He squeezed Billy's hand back, trying to reassure his friend – and himself – that things would turn out alright after all.

Not that it was working, mind you. Both boys continued to feel as though a noose were tightening around their throats and at any second the ground beneath them would drop, sending them to their deaths. However, though the fear never left, they pushed it to the side – there wasn't time for it, as Hard-To-Hit translated for the wolf, and the army was too close for comfort.

Within minutes, the three were ready to leave. Neko kept one eye on them at all times, while his other senses scanned the surrounding area for any sign of the enemy. Quietly, with Pyewacket perched on Mungojerrie's back and the cat trailing Neko, the group set off into the shadows of the forest. Hard-To-Hit took up the rear as Pyewacket, Mungojerrie, Billy and Slightly filled the middle, all of them tense and nervous, frightened of the darkness that danced around them.

While Billy's mind was filled with visions of cannibalistic mermaids and the deepest pits of hell, Hard-To-Hit thought of his father and home. Pyewacket tried to think of better days he had seen, but failed miserably and sat slumped on Mungojerrie's back. For his part, the cat thought of his duty and swore to himself that he would allow nothing to happen to the group, even if it meant his own life would be lost.

Slightly, meanwhile, was pondering the significance of the nightmares he had had. It had been a long, long time since he had dreamed of his mother – so long, in fact, that he had truly almost forgotten what she even looked like. But now, padding through the darkness with only the wind, the breathing of his companions and the pounding of his own heart sounding in his ears, he remembered.

And maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him, for he kept seeing her – between the trees, clothed in white, waist-length hair flowing behind her and threaded with ribbons. Her eyes never left him, and she seemed to smile reassuringly as she paced the group, vanishing into the shadows one moment to reappear the next.

Slightly never said a word of it to the others. After all…it was only his imagination. She would leave when the sun rose, he thought. All spooks and haunts did when there was light.

But, he wondered as he looked to the side again, was she really a bad omen? Perhaps she was just a remnant of his nightmare; or was she something else? A thought or a dream, or simply a memory that refused to leave him even when he was awake? Whatever the case, he didn't want her to leave. Deep inside, he wished she really were there with him.

And though he would have liked to share it with Billy, his best friend, there were some things he wanted to keep for his very own. Selfish, maybe, but he didn't care. She was his little secret.

It was only a few hours left until the break of dawn, but the sky had no intentions of clearing. The night seemed to enjoy the grip it had on the land, and was quite reluctant to release it. And all through the forest, the trees whispered amongst themselves of the news they were receiving from the north – evil was afoot. And it was readying to move.

Some of the oldest trees spoke of dark times that they had seen before, and how the Seven Sisters had come together to forge a Ward to guard Neverland. A Ward so powerful, it had become a life of its own. The Prophecies said, the elder trees whispered, that it would return to them in the darkest time, and bring light upon the land once more. The younger trees laughed at such folly, declaring it nothing but a legend, but the older ones knew.

The Seven Sisters were stirring, their magic awakening from a hundred years of slumber. One had already been seen walking amongst them, the ghostly essence of the One who had been Sacrificed. The old trees knew, they had been there. They had seen what had become of the Sister who gave herself up to the flame, and now that she walked amongst them again, her form little more than a glowing shadow, they knew the time had come.

The Prophecies were coming true.

The Ward was awakening.

Soon, the trees knew, a battle would rage amongst them. So many lives to be lost, all to defend the life of one. A pity, maybe. Was one life worth so many more? Depending on the life in question…yes, or no.

But…

As it was written, so it shall be done.

The trees knew it as well as they who had foreseen it.

At that moment, all of Neverland grew silent. Not a bird chirped, not a mouth moved, nor an eye blinked. Complete and utter silence reigned, and the trees waited with baited breath for what they knew would come.

And somewhere out there, hidden deep beneath the earth in a cave nearly forgotten, a sword forged in the fires of sacrifice began to sing.


	15. Night Mares & Dream Snakes Part Three

Part Four: Night Mares and Dream Snakes

3/4

* * *

If Peter had known what love – real, honest to god love – was, then he probably would have screamed it over and over again to the girl before his eyes, who was writhing in utter agony, howling her pain to the skies. Wendy's back arched into an angle so painful Peter was sure her spine would snap at any moment, and all he could do was howl in a fury as the voice cackled maniacally from somewhere above, around and beyond him.

"STOP IT!" Peter shrieked. "Leave her alone!"

_Why should I?_ The voice demanded. _She is mine to do with what I will, now, and you have no claim on her! You weak, pathetic little boy!_

"SHUT UP!" Peter screamed, as tears began to course down his cheeks. Wendy's cries of agony and futile struggles continued, wrenching at his heart. "Please, just leave Wendy alone! Stop hurting her!"

_And what can you do to make me? You are so vulnerable now, weak, blind as a bat! There is nothing you can offer, or say, that will prevent me from playing with my new toy._

Wendy suddenly howled again, and to Peter's horror her spine finally did snap – one end bursting out of her belly to reach for the sky. Her eyes exploded within her skull, puss and goo dribbling down her face as she continued to howl, her violent struggles causing her entrails to slip out of her stomach to puddle on the floor.

Peter began to scream, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to block the terrible vision before him, his voice trying to drown out Wendy's shrieks. Suddenly, everything went quiet, and then the voice began laughing in glee.

_Oh, you are such a gullible little brat,_ it said snidely. _Do you really think I'd kill her so soon?_

The boy opened his eyes to see the emaciated form of Wendy vanished from sight, replaced by a mirror that showed her sitting in a filthy cell, crying into her skirts. Peter gasped, one hand flying up to his mouth. "Wendy!"

_Really, Pan, that's not even close to the suffering I want her to feel. Or you, for that matter._ The voice seemed to be grinning. _What you just saw was a taste of my imagination. One thing I could possibly do to her, or perhaps I'll do something else entirely._

Realizing that Wendy was, for the moment, safe, Peter fought to control his thundering heart and regain his composure. It was harder than he thought, considering that the image of her dying body kept popping up behind his eyelids again and again. He shuddered, covering his face with his hands.

"You're a monster," he hissed hoarsely, feeling his hands beginning to shake.

The voice laughed maliciously. _You have no idea, Pan. You have yet to see me at my best._

"What do you want?" Peter demanded, his voice sounding choked. "Why can't you just…just go away?"

_Ah, ah, ah, Pan! You know the rules of the game – I, as the bad guy, can't leave until you defeat me! Is that not how it works? The good fellow wins the day, and everything is at peace again. Correct?_ The voice was laced with sarcasm, every word mocking Peter. _Was I wrong in assuming you are the type that loves an adventure? If so, who is this Pan that I've heard about? He cannot be you, you simpering little pile of dung._

"Let me alone," Peter growled, his anger sparking.

_Not until I get what I want, Pan._

"And what do you want?"

_You. _

Peter gaped, his hands dropping from his eyes. "M-Me? What do you want me for?"

_That's for me to know and you to find out._

"You jerk!" Peter lurched to his feet and shook a fist at the sky, screaming insults at the voice. "You have no right! This isn't fair! If all you want is me, then I will fight you! Leave Wendy and everyone else out of this!"

_I can't do that, Pan. You see, I do bad things, hence, I am the bad guy. The antagonist, if you can understand what that means. I cheat. I lie. I steal. I am the perfect incarnation of all that is evil and unholy. So, obviously, I can't release your friends. My evil ways demand I do something nasty to them. Do you see what I mean?_

"I hate you," Peter hissed.

_That's all well and good, Pan. I hate you too._

Peter snarled. "I am going to kill you."

The voice chuckled darkly. _I hold the cards right now, boy. I am the most powerful being in all of Neverland. But it would be hysterical to see you try._

"You're not the strongest," Peter said, a smirk curving up his lips. "Someone else is. And you know it."

The voice was quiet for a long moment, before it growled something that made Peter's eyes widen and his blood run cold.

_You've just condemned your precious Wendy to a fate worse than death, Pan. You have only yourself to thank for that!_

"Don't you touch her!"

_I can do what I please!_ The voice snarled viciously.

"No! Please!"

_Oh, the great Pan is begging, now?_

"Just leave Wendy alone."

_And what do I get out of it?_

Peter went quiet, biting his lip as he sought to think of something, _anything_, to spare Wendy any sort of terrible fate. "I…"

_You know what I want, Pan. But can you give it to me?_

"I will never surrender!" Peter growled ominously. "I have never surrendered to Hook, nor will I to the like of you!"

_Then you will have the pain of that girl's death upon your shoulders, Pan. You hold her fate in your hands now._

"You fiend." Peter seemed at a loss for words, so instead he clenched his fists and scowled. "If you touch her, I'll…"

_You'll what, Pan? Oh, I see! You'll make me laugh myself to death. Oh, ha, ha, boy! Your idiocy truly is something to be mocked._

"Shut up!"

_You're such a dull creature, Pan. Now I wonder why I waste my time with you._

Peter only continued to snarl in silence, fisted hands shaking with rage. His face was flushed, and it was only by a sheer miracle that he held his tongue long enough for the voice to speak again.

_You are also very adamant about Miss. Wendy's safety. Perhaps that in itself is enough to delay the inevitable for just a few hours. _

The boy blinked. "What?"

_You have two hours to decide your course of action, brat. Two hours: no more and no less. I am a busy person, and there are things that must be attended to in my palace._

Peter scowled darkly. "Two hours?"

_Yes. If you have not decided on what you want to do by then, then I am afraid your dear Wendy's fate will swiftly turn dark._ The voice chortled gleefully. _But then, I may do that anyway! After all, I am a bad guy, am I not?_

"Why you—"

_I'm sure that your decision will involve a grand battle in which you will strike me down…however, I disagree. Storm my castle, if that is your wish – I may just allow you inside instead of killing you right away. Perhaps your pirate friends will become your new entourage – or perhaps not. Whatever the case, Pan, and whatever you choose, know this – you will fail._ The voice seemed to ponder for a moment. _Hmmm…let me rephrase my previous offer. You have two hours until I force you and those pirates off that ship._

Peter gawked. "What?!"

_You heard me. Two hours, and if you are not on the island by then, I will force you from the ship and into the rather hungry mouths of those mermaids that have oh, so kindly decided to side with me. I expect you at my palace by noon, Pan. Perhaps sooner, if you value Miss. Wendy's life as much as you seem to._

"Hey, no! That's not fair! You can't do that!"

But the voice was gone, its presence vanished into nothing.

Peter swallowed. His heart pounded in his chest and his blood thundered in his ears, and in that moment he felt very, very alone. He had wanted the voice gone, he had wanted control of his own mind, his own dreams, but he wasn't sure whether or not he liked it now.

Especially if what the voice had told him was true about Wendy's fate.

As thoughts of what may happen to her filled his mind, Peter found himself falling to his knees. Wide eyes stared up into the endless night above, and as tears began to slide down his cheeks Peter found himself sobbing unabashedly, alone, and in the dark.

* * *

It didn't take long for Icky and Nibs to be on their feet once more, moving further back into the Were-Forest for better coverage. Nibs was still weak, both from the venom and from the changes his body was going through, and had to lean on Icky to keep himself upright. For her part, the werewolf's arm was wrapped firmly around the blonde's waist, and his arm was slung across her shoulders.

"Where are we going?" Nibs hissed, feeling his feet – or paws, as they were starting to look like now – bump against a stone. The flesh was tender, and he grit his teeth as an aching fire swept through him with every move his muscles made.

"Not too far back," Icky replied, her eyes darting from the ground to the surrounding forest, then back to Nibs. "I used to camp out here when I was younger and couldn't find any place that was safer." She nodded to a rather thick cluster of brambles and leaves, and helped the blonde towards them. "I dug a den, and hid it behind those bushes there. Nobody will be able to find us; it's pretty deep. I made sure of that."

Nibs nodded weakly, and Tink jingled softly from the inside pocket of his vest. "Don't worry, Tink," he said idly. "It'll be okay." He winced again, feeling some of his muscles abruptly shift as his body made a few more subtle (and unsubtle) changes.

"You alright?" Icky asked as she helped the blonde to sit down next to the bushes, kneeling down in front of him to look him over. His ears – which had only been a bit tufty and pointed before – were now nearing their final stage of transformation. His feet were slowly morphing still, and looked almost mushy as the bones reformed themselves. The tail he sported had grown at least an inch and a half, and Icky found herself admiring it.

"Yeah, I think…I think I'm okay," Nibs said, wincing as he let out a soft whoosh of breath. "I'm just real tired."

Icky nodded seriously. "The transformation is taking a lot of energy out of you, as did your recovery from the spider venom. Add the beast's attack on us to the mix, and poof! Exhaustion central." Nibs chuckled weakly.

"You're really trying, aren't you," he murmured.

"Eh?"

"To be nice," Nibs said, smiling. "You're really trying to be nice to me."

Icky's eyebrow twitched, and her ear followed suit. "I guess…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked around quickly. Her ears flicked back. "Anyway, I better get us in here where it's safe. Just sit tight there, human. I'll be done in a second."

"A second's passed," Nibs said with a low laugh as Icky dragged some branches out of the way, pausing for a moment to give the boy a dirty look.

"Har-har!" she snapped, but managed a lopsided smirk. "The more obnoxious you get the harder I'll be to deal with, you know that?"

"Couldn't be any more obnoxious than you were earlier," Nibs replied, watching as a hole was slowly uncovered from behind the thick shrubbery. Icky snorted.

"Oh, I can be plenty worse," she said, leaning forward to rest her hands on a particularly large log that blocked half the hole. She grinned. "Just as I left it." Her tail wagged a little and her ears pricked up when she glanced back at Nibs. "It may be a bit of a tight squeeze between you and the log, but it's safer to have it stay where it is. That way we're hidden better and some…things will have a difficult time getting at us."

Nibs bit his lip as Icky padded back over to him, slinging his arm over her shoulder and her hand at his waist. Slowly, she walked him towards the hole and helped him slide on top of it. "Are you sure about this?" Nibs whispered, suddenly nervous. The den seemed awfully dark.

The werewolf rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm sure, stupid," she chided. "What, you don't like the dark?"

"Ugh." Was Nibs's only comment as he squeezed himself between the log and the roof of the den. Icky listened, heard a thump and a soft yelp of pain, and laughed.

"I guess I should have mentioned the drop, huh?"

Some rather nasty cuss words floated out to her ears, and Icky resisted the urge to snicker. For some reason, now that he was slowly becoming a werewolf, Icky found herself enjoying his company a little more. Maybe it was the musky scent he was developing, or his swiftly-changing temperament that provided her with banter that she enjoyed…but for some reason she was now almost wishing he would stay like that. For just a little bit longer.

_I wonder what he'll look like as a full werewolf?_ She wondered idly, taking some branches and tucking them around the edges of the den's mouth. Suddenly, she frowned, and then her eyes widened. _Oh my gods. I have a male were in my den._

If Nibs had been able to hear her thoughts, he would have asked why the thought shocked and horrified her so much. As far as she remembered, the only time a young male wolf and a young female wolf entered a den together for the first time was to breed. After that they were considered mates and then…

She shook her head roughly. _No, no way. Uh-uh. Not going there. This is a time of war…yes! The last of our kind must come together to defeat the greater evil and whoa, waitaminute…he's really not even my species. Woo, okay._ An unnerved grin slid across her face. _Besides, he's not old enough, and I'm not old enough to have those…um…urges. So…yeah. Could never work. And he's really human! Ew! Okay, bad thoughts are gone._

Trying to bring her fur down from the abrupt bristling it went into, Icky hauled a few more, thick branches over and placed them in such a way as to completely disguise most of the log. Then, dragging a few more with her, she put one foot through the hole and slid inside, pulling the branches up until they covered the leftover space. She fiddled with it for a few minutes, tucking her tail between her legs as she purposely avoided looking at Nibs, whose eyes she knew were on her.

Finally, she turned and gave the blonde a wicked grin. "Welcome to my den," she intoned, before snorting at the youth's lack of enthusiasm. "Yeah okay. This is the exit, and down that way," she pointed, "is where we eat, sleep, and do whatever we do. Usually I just eat and sleep there, nobody to talk to, etc. If you make a mess of it I'll kill you though."

Nibs blinked as Icky took his arm and slung it over her shoulder for the third or fourth time that night. Together, crouching as low as they could without falling on their faces, they made their way to the very back of the tunnel. To his surprise, Nibs found that his eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and he wasn't surprised when his feet touched dead grass and they entered a more open space. Icky let him down and Nibs sat, surprised.

"Wait here," she said, and quickly dropped to all fours and padded towards the darkest corner of the room. He watched her, curious, as she fiddled with something, and then a match was struck. The sudden light made Nibs blink and wince, and the next thing he knew there was a small fire burning in what appeared to be a miniature fireplace fit for a gnome in the wall of the den. Icky turned back and grinned a little. "And then there was light," she said, sarcasm lacing her voice.

Nibs snorted, but smiled. "I see…" And he did. He didn't know why – maybe it was some sort of pride, or not being used to having others around – but on some level Icky was attempting to show off her stuff. And, looking around the den now with the lighting, he was indeed impressed. It was like a smaller, more basic version of a rabbit hole, almost. There were some tiny doors built into the walls (god knew what they were for, he had yet to find out) and in one corner of the area a thick pile of old and worn blankets, crudely sewn and packed with dead grass. The floor itself was carpeted with the same grass as was in the blankets, and a few pillows lay there and there.

Overall, for a job done by one person over the course of how many years he couldn't guess, it was well done.

Glancing to the side at Icky, he gave her a light smile – which was broken by an abrupt yawn that nearly split his face in half. He heard a stifled snort and chuckle, and cracked open an eye to stare at his companion as she padded over to him. "Tired?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes." Nibs deadpanned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Not much of a surprise." She lifted a hand and gestured to the blankets. "You can sleep there, if you want."

Nibs shook his head. "I can't…it's your home."

The werewolf's ear twitched in annoyance. "So bloody what? You're tired, you need to rest a bit. You'll be safe in here, which means I can go out and find the wolfsbane and not have to worry about something eating you alive while I'm gone. So you can take a nap there until I get back."

"But…" Nibs started to protest but instead yelped as Icky butted his shoulder with the top of her head, forcing him onto the blankets.

"Look. Like I said before, the transformation is happening faster than I thought it would. The time I figured we would have had has been cut in half, maybe more. If you want to stay human, I have to find that plant." She stared down at him, scanning his face and memorizing the changes. "You're lucky…it looks like you're taking the change better than some I've seen. For now, just shut up and sleep. I'll be back." She turned and began to trot towards the tunnel, stopping only when Nibs called out. "_Whaaaaat?"_

"You…won't be long, right?"

Icky sighed, looking back at Nibs. She raised an eyebrow – already he was looking quite comfortable, his chin resting on a pillow and the rest of his body curled up into a neat little ball. _Aw, how cute._ Icky wuffed. "No. I'll make it quick, I promise. Just don't leave the den until I get back, ok? Even if you gotta whiz."

Nibs blinked. "But if I have to—"

"Then douse the fire! Geeze. Humans are such prudes."

With that, Icky fled down the tunnel and outside, replacing the branches she had to move back into their original places. She stopped, lifted her head, sniffed, and with a low growl was dashing off into the trees.

_Let the hunt begin,_ she thought. _Bugger anyone who gets in my way._

Back in the den, Nibs was staring at the place Icky had been only minutes before. Alone, now, Nibs could seriously think about his situation. Through a light haze of exhaustion, his mind stumbled over the events of the day – mostly involving Icky and everything else up until this point – and he realized with slight shock that he was indeed very lucky.

_I could be dead right now if it wasn't for her,_ he thought numbly. _I could be dead, and so could Tink…Tink!_

Nibs's eyes widened and he sat up, reaching into his vest and pulling the fairy out. To his relief, she was sleeping again, and with a small smile he laid her gently down on the blankets next to him. _We really are lucky,_ he thought again. _Maybe Icky was right…being a werewolf isn't such a bad thing. As compared to…other things that could have happened. _He yawned again. _Though I have no idea how she can sleep with a tail…_

Sighing a bit, Nibs wrapped his arms around the pillow under his chin and squeezed it. He was tired, and he wanted to sleep, but he really couldn't anymore. Too much had happened, too much terror and pain, and he feared to close his eyes now that he was alone. He didn't want to sleep when there was no one there with him, no one who could warn him, or help him if danger came.

He didn't want to admit it but not only was he dependent on Icky for helping him regain his full humanity, he was also dependent on her for survival. He was hurt, weak, and couldn't take care of himself – weak. _Maybe…Maybe she's right,_ Nibs thought, feeling his eyes water. _Maybe I really am as weak as she said._

He clutched the pillow to himself more tightly, fighting the tears that threatened to come. The fight was lost before it even began, however, and Nibs was crying helplessly into the pillow, his whole body shuddering with the force of his sobs. Though he didn't quite realize it, he learned a lesson right then: things are not as they are in fairytales, and sometimes life just isn't fair at all.

Nibs didn't know how long he cried. It could have been hours, or it could have been minutes, but the next thing he knew, he was fast asleep. And he remained that way even when Tink woke briefly, gawked at his ears, muttered something unintelligible and then passed out again.

Thankfully, no nightmares plagued him as he slept. However, his body continued to change. And as the seconds ticked by, his chances for becoming fully human again grew slimmer and slimmer. Though no one would honestly be able to tell, only a limited amount of time remained to him – and that time passed swiftly, as time always seemed to do when one was sleeping. He awoke later, and upon seeing the den as empty as it had been when he first fell into a dreamless state, Nibs's heart began to feel fear once more.

Though he didn't realize it, two hours had passed.

And Icky still hadn't returned.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	16. Night Mares & Dream Snakes Part Four

Night Mares and Dream Snakes  
4/4

*

* * *

Beyond the shadow that had fallen over Neverland, the sun in all its glory was rising. Ribbons of light flew like streamers across the trembling seas, but upon reaching the border between the real world and Neverland, they were thrown back to bounce across the waters like shards of broken glass. Unable to penetrate the thick shadow, the sun gave up after so many tries and continued on its way, gliding across the heavens whilst clouds that managed to slip through the barrier turned black and cruel upon entering.

Somewhere below the surface of the dark waters inside the barrier that separated Neverland from the real world, mermaids swam in circles, gnashing their teeth and hissing to themselves in a language so foul the sound of it coming from their own mouths rankled their nerves. And even further below them, was something so dark and sinister that had lain in wait since longer than anyone could remember. It curled itself into a tight knot beneath a light layer of sand at the water's floor, one bulging eyeball staring up at the shadow of the ship that floated idly above it.

The Jolly Roger lay anchored in the bay, still, unmoving except for the bobbing of its mass on the waves that swept beneath it. Silence reigned aboard the ship as though everyone who was on it had fallen into a deathly silent sleep, the only sound that of the creaking of wood and the water's lapping against the hull, and the odd rat that squeaked to itself as it rummaged through Cookson's food stores. Not a soul moved on deck, not a whisper was heard, and it was as though it were the calm before the storm.

The entire island was silent, and it was with some trepidation that Hook quietly ordered his men to row faster towards the shore. About two hours previous, the Captain of the Jolly Roger had abruptly ordered for the ship to be abandoned. None of the crew knew why, and Hook did not tell them – they simply followed his orders, the strange urgency in his voice alerting them to some unknown danger that lurked nearby, waiting to pounce.

Lost within his own thoughts, Hook watched as they drew further away from his ship. The ship he had rightly earned, and now had to abandon. But he knew it was the correct course, for to deny the truth of what his dreams had told him was to misstep in the dance with death. And Hook, as brave and daring a man as he was, had no wish to die until his revenge on Peter Pan had been completed.

The boy had not been the only one to sleep that night. Hook himself had journeyed through the land of dreams, and it was with some surprise that he found that Neverland's Fair Folk roamed about even in a true man's dreams.

A mare had come to him, whispering of dark tidings. Her name was Minuit, she said, and there was little time to explain in full detail what he must do to survive the next few hours. She had then proceeded to show to him what was happening on the rest of the island, and had even dared to take him into Pan's dreamscape, where he had seen a great shadow looming over the boy with claws ready to strike at any moment.

"That is the Enemy," Minuit had told him softly. "He plans for Pan's death. Even now he watches the boy with one eye, while the other rests upon the island." She explained to him of the orders he had given Peter, and the threat he issued. "Within the next few hours, Captain, the Enemy shall strike upon your ship. By then you must be away!"

"I'll not run from some pathetic spirit," Hook growled in response. "No creature, human or non, shall drive me from my ship!"

"Then you will suffer the ultimate price," Minuit had hissed, dark eyes flashing crimson briefly. She tossed her head, allowing the stars in her mane to tumble about. "Know this, James Hook," she said hoarsely. "You and your men will die at dawn if these words are not heeded. Another will claim your prize, that of Pan's life, and you will be lost into the dust from which your kind came so many years ago. I tell you this at the risk of my own existence, Captain. Hear me, and obey."

"I obey no one," Hook snapped, but Minuit was galloping away. The landscape had turned to stars, and her hoofs brought shards of shattered flames up in their wake as she fled. Frowning, Hook had turned back to the scene and watched as Pan writhed miserably under the great shadow's gaze, as its talons prodded yielding flesh and drew blood.

The man grew insanely jealous then. How dare another man, thing or Fay tread upon Hook's territory? Pan was his! No one else could have him, ever! It was his vengeance, and his alone that would come about when the time was right. It would be his hook, his own metallic appendage that would rip the intestines from the boy's belly and toss them upon the decks of his ship, forever staining the planks with blood. No Fay swine would take that from him, ever!

_But,_ he thought, _what of the cost?_ To live to kill, to have his revenge…in life, there is and always will be sacrifices for things that one wants. Hook knew this as well as anyone. Would he have to sacrifice his ship in order to survive long enough to destroy Pan once and for all? Or was the cost for his vengeance that of his pride, in having to flee from the enemy? Hook did not know for sure, and though he was educated, such education did not always answer the more puzzling of questions.

_Still,_ he thought. Anything was worth it if he were to have his revenge. To abandon ship to obtain the life of his greatest enemy…it was a small price, when he really thought about it. A small price indeed, and Hook was good at judging whether the price was correct or not.

And so it was, he stood at the head of the longboat, watching as they drew away from his beloved Jolly Roger. _You are but a small price to pay,_ he thought to the ship. _And I will see you resurrected as never before when this dark ordeal is finished._

No mermaids had appeared to prevent them from leaving the Jolly Roger, but instinct told them it would not be that way for long. So with Hook at the head and the sleeping form of Peter Pan in his arms, the rest of the crew rowed swiftly but silently towards shore. Eerie was the atmosphere, pregnant with foreboding, and it was the moment the last man – Starkey – stepped ashore, that the crew realized exactly why the captain had ordered them to abandon ship.

The beast beneath the waves rose up much like an enormous snake, rearing its head above the ship and snapping its fanged jaws together viciously. Smooth was its body, so as not to make a sound as it slipped through the waters. It brought its tail forth from the foam, curling it about the ship much like a snake strangling a mouse. And as the men on shore watched, horrified, it slowly began to drag the ship below the surface of the bay, its jaw dragging the mast down until the vessel lay sideways. Bubbles exploded from the air locked within the hull, and the snapping of wood as the sinuous body crushed the ship echoed across the water with an eerie finality.

It didn't take long to sink the Jolly Roger. Nor did it take long for Hook and the rest of his crew to flee into the woods. However, it was a long while before the man decided on a final course of action, during which other events took place across the magical isle, and in the real world.

* * *

Honkers was no fool. Stupid at times, as all trolls were, but certainly not a fool. The shadows and mist that surrounded him and his companions spoke of dark tidings that he could feel deep in his bones. And despite his best efforts, he could feel fear creeping stealthily into his heart as he, Shankers and Tootles made their way deeper and deeper into the forest.

All around him he could hear the trees whispering to each other, dark words that he knew were always present the closer one came to the Were-Forest. He had been there many times in his youth, and knew the right paths to take to get them where he wanted them to be at the fastest pace. Though consciously he wasn't sure why he wanted to take them to the Were-Forest, on some level he believed that it would be the safest place for him and his little group. At the very least he knew he could defend them against the Were-Trees, whereas the creatures in Neverland were harder to defeat, especially now that he knew they were very Not Right.

Less than an hour previously, Honkers and his group had come across a troop of dwarves. His first instinct was to charge out of the underbrush, club swinging wildly and bash the heads in of the bastards who had dared to destroy his kinfolk. He wanted to kill, he wanted to see blood fly and most of all, he wanted revenge. The fury that swept over him was nigh on impossible to shake off. But all it took was the look on his brother's face as he cowered behind a tree, whimpering quietly to himself that swayed the huge troll's decision.

Rather than risk the lives of his brother and the man-cub, Honkers had instead faded back into the underbrush, uncharacteristically taking his brother's hand and leading him away, for Shankers the Idiot was very nearly paralyzed with fear. Once they were out of earshot, however, Honkers had immediately let go and hissingly berated his stupid brother for his lack of self-control. Moments of kindness don't last very long among troll kind, and Honkers wasn't about to repeat the coddling anytime soon.

But that didn't mean he didn't understand why Shankers was afraid. He understood alright. He hadn't looked at the dwarves very long, but he knew that there was something strangely off about them, something that didn't sit quite right. It sent chills up his spine and whatever it was that had caused it, whatever it was that was wrong, his instincts bellowed to him that he really didn't want to find out.

Whatever the case, Honkers was more at ease with himself than he ever had been. And the more he listened to his brother ramble nonsensical words to Tootles in the dark, the more glad Honkers was that he had avoided a fight. And in the shadows of early morning, with the clouds broiling overhead and the only other sound that of rattling leaves, Honkers admitted to himself that he would rather see his brother safe than in the clutches of those hell-bound dwarves. And, he thought, if that meant fleeing from a fight rather than looking for one, he would gladly do it without hesitation.

But, back to the current situation.

Honkers knew dawn was coming. And he knew that most creatures of the night hid in the caves when the sun rose. He didn't think they would do that this day, however, for there was no sign of the sun at all, and his instincts were screaming at him. There was something out there in the dark, pacing them, watching them, eyeballing them with what he could only assume was loathing and hatred. He could feel eyes on him, taking note of every move he made, and Honkers did not like it.

Abruptly, he stopped and raised a hand. Behind him, Shankers and Tootles stopped. Deep-set eyes scanned the vicinity, narrowed and cautious. _Something not right here,_ Honkers thought with a scowl. _Something out there, watching us._

To his left, there was a slight rustling of leaves. On any normal day he would have assumed it was the wind; but the wind was strangely absent, and there was simply a strange, foreboding silence permeating the atmosphere. Honkers scowled some more, reaching up to take hold of the giant club he always carried, hand clenching around its base and holding it in preparation for attack.

A strange scent drifted to him by a sudden light breeze. He sniffed cautiously, his brow furrowing. The rustling of leaves came again, his sharp ears picking up the sound of soft footsteps in the mud. He gripped his club tighter.

"Brother?" Shankers whispered.

"Hush," Honkers growled.

Suddenly, the huge troll spun and hurled his club into the underbrush. A howl cut through the night as the sound of the club impacting with something made of flesh sounded, and there was another thump as whatever it was hit the ground. Silence reigned for another second before a yelp sounded, and then Honkers was thundering through the bushes, growling deep in his throat.

"What is it?" Tootles whispered, clutching Shankers' neck tightly.

"Got it," Honkers announced triumphantly as he stomped his way back through the bushes and onto the path. He held out his left fist and from it dangled a humanoid figure. Only it wasn't human; it was something Tootles had had nightmares about from time to time after some of Peter's stories. Furry, with paws and claws and fangs and big, pointed ears….

"Werewolf," Shankers hissed quietly.

"Stupid thing hunting us," Honkers said darkly as he came to stand a few feet away from them, the werewolf hanging limply from his hand. A trail of blood dribbled through the fur on her (for it was a she) face from where Honkers' club had struck.

As Shankers stared at her, something within his mind clicked. He had seen her before! He had seen her when the spirit-sword had spoken to him, using images to describe what was going to happen, to show him what was to come in the next while. The sword had shown him the wolf, shown him that she would come to them and he knew, with utter certainty, that she was not like the dwarves. That she was good. Because the spirit sword said so.

The spirit sword had shown him her purpose, and it was with a strangled sound in his throat that he yelled, "Brother, no!" as Honkers made to grab her by the throat and snap her neck in two.

"What!"

"Brother not hurt wolf-girl!" Shankers said quickly, dashing over to grab Honkers' arm and squeeze it tightly. "Brother must listen!" he said as Honkers gave him a baleful scowl. "Brother must not hurt wolf-girl! Spirit sword say she good, good, like us, not bad like dwarves. Brother must listen!"

"Why listen to stupid twin who talks to self?" Honkers snapped back, irritated. Here he had been trying to protect them and his stupid brother wanted to protect the thing he was protecting them from! The very thought made him feel nauseous with confusion. What the hell did he just think? Oh, kill the werewolf.

Shankers tugged on his arm again. "Brother, please! Listen!" His whining grew louder in pitch, to almost a squeak. "Not know what you doing, not know consequences! Must not kill wolf-girl! Bad, bad!"

"Why should listen to brother?" Honkers growled, yanking his arm away.

"Because brother knew about dwarves!" Shankers shot back. "Twin not know about them, twin not listen, and brother was right! Brother should listen to twin, twin listen to spirit sword and spirit sword is good."

"Spirit sword, brother should marry goddamn spirit sword," Honkers rumbled sourly. But with his twin's eyes on him, pleading and watering with tears, he found himself relaxing his grip. It couldn't hurt, after all. The werewolf was nowhere near as powerful as he, and he could crush her with his fist anytime he pleased. However…

"Brother will make deal," he said slowly, glaring at Shankers. "Will not kill wolf-girl, but not let her go. Make sure it safe for us first."

"Fine!" Shankers said, relieved. "But not kill her."

"Not kill her," Honkers agreed. Inwardly he was seething. _Stupid, stupid, always doing what brother wants, not what me want. Damn him. Damn kin. Damn._

Taking a rope from his belt, Honkers immediately wrapped it around the werewolf's neck, tying it securely before dropping her to the ground. A low groan emitted from her throat when the impact of hitting the ground knocked her back into some semblance of awareness.

"Nyyyrrrg…."

"What name?" Shankers asked of her suddenly, ignoring his brother for the moment. Tootles continued to clutch to the troll's neck, staring at her with some fear. The creature blinked blearily, peering up at Shankers through cloudy eyes.

"My name?" she asked. Shankers nodded. She frowned, blinking again. "Uhhh…" She shook her head, rolled over painfully, and blinked some more as she got a good look at Honkers' gigantic feet. "My…name…" she trailed off as her eyes lifted up, up, up to see the huge troll's scowling face staring down at her. She froze. "Eeeeeyeeee…"

"No worry," Shankers said happily as he reached down and picked her up. "We not hurt you. What name?"

With her brain still befuddled from being knocked out by Honkers' club, she said (with some confusion), "Icky…?"

"Icky!" Shankers laughed. "Me Shankers, he Honkers, and this Toot-less!" He set Icky down again, grinning stupidly as the werewolf swayed on her feet, one hand reaching up to clutch at her head.

"What…the hell…" It was about then that she felt the rope around her neck, and she froze again. "What the hell!"

"Not taking it off," Honkers said nastily from behind her when she tugged on the rope. "You dangerous. You stay with us."

"What… huh… what the HELL!?" Icky turned quickly, and almost fell over when a wave of dizziness washed over her. She groaned again, clutching her head. "Damn you… what did you do to me?"

"Hit you with club," Honkers said bluntly.

"Look, I…I don't have time for this." She blinked again, shook her head, then growled darkly in the back of her throat. "Get this goddamn rope off me."

"No." Honkers tugged on the rope a bit, nearly making her fall over. She hissed, eyes flashing angrily.

"Look pal," Icky snarled, albeit weakly. "I haven't got time for this. I have to get back, there's someone who needs my help…" She tugged on the rope again, wincing as it rubbed against the thin layer of fur on her throat. "Damn it, please! If I don't get the wolfsbane back to Nibs soon he'll—"

"Nibs?" Tootles practically squealed. "You know Nibs?!"

"OW!" Icky covered her ears, wincing. She sent a glare to Tootles, who cowered a bit under it. "Mind keeping the noise level down, human?" Then she sighed, rubbing her head again. "Yeah, I know Nibs. What of it?"

"Where is he?" Tootles asked. "Is he okay? What happened? And where's Peter?"

"He'll be fine if you let me go," Icky retorted nastily, casting another glare at Honkers, who glared at her some more and gripped the rope tighter. She made a face. "What the hell did I ever do to _you_?"

"What happened to him?" Tootles asked, jumping down from Shankers' shoulder to run over to Icky and tug on her arm. His face was full of childish worry, and Icky wrinkled her nose at it. It was too cute. "Please tell me! He's part of my family!"

Icky sighed again. "Okay, okay – here's the basics. He's sick, because he was bitten by a spider creature and I had to bite him and then he started turning into a werewolf so I had to go out and find some wolfsbane to keep him from changing fully and I don't have a lot of time so if I don't get back right now he's going to become a werewolf forever so would you please just let me go already?!" She winced again, running a hand over her face. "Ow."

Tootles bit his lip. "Well… can we come with you then?" He ignored Icky's attempt to tug her wrist gently out of his grip.

Icky paused. "What?"

"Well, I don't think Honkers is going to let you go, so I was wondering if we could go with you? They won't hurt us!" Tootles said quickly as Icky threw the trolls a wary glance. "They've been taking care of me, and maybe being in groups would be a good idea. Five instead of three and…um…yeah."

Icky blinked, chewing her bottom lip as she looked the trolls over again. "I don't know…" She then threw a glare at Honkers. "Seeing as that one already clubbed me, I'm not keen on it." She tugged again, but Tootles still wouldn't let go.

"Please?" Tootles pleaded, pulling on her arm. "They can protect us! And I need to see Nibs!"

Frowning, Icky once again tried to pry Tootles' hands off her wrist. "Look, kid, I don't know. Where Nibs is, is in a place where I don't like people going. It's secret and safe, which was why I brought him there. He's real sick and I don't really want to compromise that."

"Please!" Tears began to well up in the boy's eyes. "He's my family, I must see him! If he's sick I need to be there for him!"

"Hey," Icky snapped, thought more gently than she would have wanted, "I just don't think it's a good idea. You wouldn't want to see him the way he is right now. It would be… unpleasant. For you, that is."

"Why?" Tootles whined, tugging harder on her wrist. "If he's so sick I have to see him! I have to know if he's okay! I don't care how bad he looks; I need to be there for him! He'd want me there!"

_If you're always this whiny I don't see how he would,_ Icky thought somewhat sourly as she vainly tried to drag her arm out of his grip without knocking him down. After a few more futile attempts and the boy's tears finally grating on her nerves, she said, "Okay, look, fine! Happy? I'll take you to him."

Tootles gasped, grinning happily. "Oh, thank you!" He then threw himself at her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"AWK!"

When she finally disengaged herself from the boy's grip, Icky shook a finger at him. "But if those trolls try and eat me, I will eat YOU. Got that?"

Shankers giggled. "No worry. Me not eat pet doggie."

"WHAT?!"

Tootles just smiled.

* * *

Peter dreamed.

He had come to him again. The stranger. Bathed in a light that seemed almost holy, he threw back the darkness with a mere wave of his hand. The sword at his side glimmered brightly in the shadows that permeated Pan's dreamscape, and the boy nearly cried at this strange friend's arrival. His soul ached from the tortures brought down upon him by the Beast's hands; he could feel the Weave trembling miserably as it attempted to regain what strength had been plucked from it when the Enemy shredded its webbing string by string.

Curses the likes of which Peter had never heard before, nor even thought to dare to repeat (for they were the nasty sort not even a man would dare utter) resounded, fading as the Enemy fled back to whence it came, snarling promises of revenge. And despite the pain, Peter wanted to crow in triumph at its retreat. He knew in his heart the stranger (who he felt he ought to know but could not remember if he did or not) would keep him safe, but only for so long.

"You must try to stay awake, Peter," the stranger whispered to him softly as he cut the hidden bonds with his gleaming sword. "I cannot always protect you from him."

"Must you leave?" Peter whispered back, his voice trembling and scratchy from the screams he had been forced to utter. "Can't you stay?"

"No." Gentle eyes gazed at him from a face too blurry to see, a face bathed in holy light that Peter had trouble seeing past. "I have a duty I must do in the waking world before I am able to protect you from him forever. When it is complete, I will return to you, and you will never have to fear him again."

"What duty?" Peter asked, allowing his dream-self to stand and look at the stranger.

"That," said the stranger, "I cannot say. Your existence depends solely on mine being a secret to all but those who are supposed to know. Rest assured, Peter," he added, "that I will not abandon you, and when I can I shall return to guard you from the Menace. Until then…" And here he waved a hand, and a window appeared in the dreamscape off to their left, "Hook will protect you."

"Hook?" Peter asked incredulously. "Hook can't even beat me, how can he protect me?"

The stranger gave him a somewhat scathing look then. "You have very few allies right now, Pan," he said in a low voice. "And what allies you have, you must keep. It is vital that you remain with Hook during this time. He can protect you where I cannot."

Peter made a face. "But…"

"There will be no 'buts', Peter," the stranger said, a little harshly. "There is no choice in the matter. If you will not allow Hook to protect you until I am able, then you will die – and there are no alternatives. It is Hook, or no one. And I know as well as you do that you can't fight in the position you're in right now."

Peter blinked, then brought his hand slowly up to his eyes. "My eyes," he murmured. The stranger nodded. Peter looked up at him again. "Will they heal?"

"Yes. But it will take some time. Certainly not before the day is over." Peter sighed, and the stranger reached out and tipped his chin up so the youth would look at him again. "Take heart, Peter. You are not alone in this fight." At the boy's inquisitive look, the strange allowed a smile to cross his face. "For fear of Him finding out, I cannot say who they are. But I will say that you have allies in this war, and they will be there for you when you need them to be."

Peter frowned. "When will that be?"

"Not for a day, my friend," the stranger said solemnly. "Sadly, this fight will be longer than that. And they need time, much as I do, to prepare for the final battle."

"And when will that be?" Peter asked, curious.

The stranger gave him a dark look. "Soon," was all he said.

Silence fell between them for a few moments, and the stranger glanced off into the distance. He seemed to sense something, for her shook his head. "I must leave now," he said, and turned. Peter grabbed his arm.

"Wait! You can't really leave me here!" he exclaimed.

"I have no choice," the shining one said, prying his arm free of Peter's grip. "You will awaken within the next few moments, and I must return to my duty. Little time is given to me to protect you, and our stars are not always on the same path. Peter…" He took a step back. "Don't shun the aid of Hook, or his men. They are all you have right now, and you must – must – remain with them until I am able to come for you. Please, trust me."

Peter clenched his hand into a fist. "I won't depend on Hook or his men for anything," he said darkly. The stranger frowned, then shook his head.

"Then you will perish. And your friends will meet the same fate. And the Enemy will win." They locked eyes for a moment. "I don't like it any more than you do, Peter Pan, but I am willing to sacrifice anything to keep you safe. You must learn that some things are more important than pride."

And with that, he walked away, fading into the shadows from whence he came. The light dimmed, and Peter was left alone.

* * *

_Next up: Awakenings...._


	17. Awakenings Part One

Note: Boy, here we are again... three more parts to go, and then it'll all be NEW MATERIAL. O_O And I have barely gotten very far at all. Heh.

Oh, and Peter Pan and stuff still isn't mine.

* * *

Awakenings  
1/4

* * *

Slightly awoke the moment his foot got caught in a branch that lay partially unearthed in the slimy belly of Never Land's nastiest bog. His eyes snapped open as his ankle twisted, and he fell forward with a yelp and a splash, mud flying up everywhere as he landed without any grace whatsoever and became drenched in a foul smelling, thick liquid that threatened to set his stomach heaving. Through ears stuffed with mud, he heard a frightened whinny as the young pinto he had been leaning on while he slept-walked shied and galloped a few feet away.

Groaning, the boy shook his head and tried to get to his feet, cursing under his breath. A moment later, arms were encircling him and he was being helped up, a voice talking hurriedly to him on his left.

"Slightly, are you alright? What happened?"

"Tripped," the blonde murmured, covering a yawn with a mud-soaked hand. Billy, who had been the one speaking, shook his head as he helped Slightly along, the boy nearly tripping again as his exhausted mind tried to stay awake.

"We can't go on like this," the gunner said quietly, his voice tinged with anger. At who or what, Slightly didn't know, but he felt some irritation of his own rise up.

"We slightly haven't got a choice," he snapped, pulling his arm out of Billy's grasp and stumbling on ahead, almost slipping again and falling into the mud a second time. The pinto returned, having realized that nothing was wrong, and the blonde immediately took hold of its mane in an effort not to fall on his face again.

Behind him, Billy's face crunched into a look of worry. He watched as Slightly slipped again and again, shaking his head. "We really can't go on like this," he murmured as he, too, started moving forward again. Beside him was a bear, which let out a low grunt as though it was agreeing with him. _We're exhausted, barely keeping awake… if anything were to attack us right now we'd be burnt toast,_ he thought sourly. _And I know Slightly, he can't keep this up much longer… I can but even I'm worn down. This just can't go on._

Off to his left and a few feet ahead, Hard-To-Hit seemed to be the only one who didn't seem to be doing too badly. He looked alert, if a little worn, and Billy found his irritation rising further when the Indian boy glanced back at him and gave him a pitying glance. _Yeah, like you know what you're doing,_ the gunner groused inwardly as his foot got stuck in a small hole in the bog. _You know about as much as I do, which is jack all._

Billy growled. "Damnit!" The bear paused, looking at him, then it shuffled over to him, and growled. Billy paused, then sighed. "I'm stuck," he told the bear.

It growled again and nudged him gently with its shoulder. The gunner blinked. Then he tried to smile. "Alright." Taking hold of the huge animal's fur, he allowed the bear to help pull him out of the rut, leaning heavily on it so he wouldn't fall as Slightly had done and become drenched, thereby possibly infecting the wounds the birds had delivered upon him earlier. Even when his foot was freed, he didn't let go of the bear. He was tired, and he knew it; why not accept a little help?

Ahead of him, Slightly was clutching the pinto's mane with all the strength he had left. He knew Billy was right; he knew he couldn't go on for much longer. But he also knew they didn't have much of a choice. Faced for the first time with things adults dealt with every day, Slightly found himself discovering that some things had to be done, no matter what. And he didn't like it. He was tired, he didn't want to keep going, but stuck in the middle of a bog as they were, with the enemy behind them and god knows what else ahead, he realized that they were indeed in a great deal of trouble.

A low sigh escaped his lips. His eyes fluttered heavily and he stumbled again. _I can't do this,_ he thought blearily. _I just can't. It's too hard… too much. I'm so tired…_

He stumbled again and fell to his knees in the mud, his hand sliding limply from the pinto's mane to land at his side, sinking into the thick liquid. He slumped over as tears began to run down his cheeks, tears of defeat. _I can't do this, I just can't. I'm so tired, I want to go home, I wish Peter was here…_

The pinto whinnied softly and nuzzled him as though it were encouraging him to get up and try again. For all he knew it was. Gently, he pushed the horse's nose away, wiping his eyes and streaking mud across his face. "I can't," he said to the pinto, quietly. "I just can't. Leave me alone. Just let me stay here."

The horse whinnied again, more loudly this time. Then a squelching noise came and someone dropped down into the mud next to him. Peering between the matted chunks of hair that hung in his face, Slightly discovered that it was Billy. The gunner looked just as tired as he felt, and he suddenly felt bad for being snappish with him a few minutes ago.

"I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

"It's okay," Billy replied. He tried to smile. "I'm tired, cully. How about you?"

"Same," Slightly said. He sighed. "I slightly don't think I can keep going, Billy."

The gunner also sighed. Then he reached around and pulled Slightly into a quick hug. "I don't think I can either, Slightly," he told the boy in all honesty. "But we gotta keep trying. I don't want to die in this bog. Do you?"

"No," the blonde said in a whisper. "I don't want to die at all." He wiped his eyes again and the pinto nudged his cheek, letting out another whinny. He finally smiled, weakly. "Yeah, I know. Get up, keep moving. No rest for the wicked." Billy chuckled, then helped Slightly up once more, the blonde taking hold of the horse's mane again to help himself stand up. He yawned, trying to cover his mouth without getting mud all over his face again.

Billy smiled, then patted the little pinto's flanks. "Mind giving my friend here a ride?" he asked the horse. "I'm sure you're tired too, but humans…well, we're weak. Heh." The horse seemed to laugh, then bobbed its head, shifting closer to Slightly. Billy smiled again. "Thanks."

To Slightly's surprise (as he had been too busy yawning to hear Billy's request) the gunner picked him up by the waist and pushed him on top of the horse. He let out a small yelp as he found himself being forced to swing his other leg over the animal's back so he wouldn't just fall off the other side. "Billy!" he squeaked, as he slumped over the horse's neck and clung to its hair.

"You're getting a ride," Billy said amiably. "No thanks needed." He winked tiredly at the blonde before taking hold of the pinto's mane as well, and started trudging forward. "Let's go, cullies. The clock's ticking and we gotta keep moving." The little stallion snorted and whinnied in agreement, before moving alongside Billy, the three making quite a sight for the other animals around to see.

From atop the horse, Slightly smiled. "Thank you," he mumbled, as he rested his head against the animal's neck. His eyes began to drift closed, and within minutes he was asleep again. Billy watched him out of the corner of his eye, smiling from the corner of his mouth.

"Sleep well, Slightly," he said quietly, reaching back to brush a muddy lock of hair out of the boy's face. "Of all of us, you need it most."

"Is he alright?" a voice asked, and Billy turned to see Hard-To-Hit wading toward them through the mud, Neko at his side.

"Yeah, he's alright," Billy replied. "Just real tired."

"As are we all," the Indian boy said quietly as he fell into step with the gunner. "Neko says it's not much farther before we hit dry land. To be honest, I cannot wait. This bog is making me sick just thinking about it."

"I know what you mean," Billy said. "How long has it been since we got in this place anyway?"

"I'd rather not know, but it seems like forever," Hard-To-Hit said with a snort. Then he glanced over at Slightly and smiled a grim smile. "He's not used to this."

"Neither am I," Billy pointed out. "I'm not used to anything like this situation."

Hard-To-Hit yawned a little. "I don't suppose any of us are," he said after a long moment of silence. "This is beyond any of my wildest nightmares."

"If this is a nightmare I want to wake up," Billy quipped. The Indian boy chuckled.

"I agree."

They were silent again for a few minutes, the only sound that of hooves and paws sinking into the mud and pulling out again. It was actually quite sickening when you listened to it long enough. Rather sounded like a farting contest between drunken revelers. Billy almost burst out laughing at the thought; instead, he snorted and Hard-To-Hit gave him an odd look.

"Something funny?" he asked, if a bit testily.

"Yeah," Billy said. "As crazy as it is, I can still find some things funny. Even now." He then proceeded to tell the Indian boy what his train of thought had come up with, and after a look of astonishment on Hard-To-Hit's face, the two shared a few moments of quiet snickering together, forgetting – for the moment – that under normal circumstances they were enemies.

"One thing I've learned from this," Hard-To-Hit said after their laughter died down, then paused. Billy looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "We are sworn enemies, Billy Jukes. But look at us. Laughing together. It makes me think that we are all human, and we all bleed red." He fell silent. Then, "I wonder, if after this is over will that continue?"

Billy frowned, then glanced ahead. "I don't know," he said after a moment. "But one thing I've learned, too, is that sometimes we just have to enjoy what we've got, while we've got it. I don't want to think about whether or not it'll still be this way. Us, that is." He chewed his lip. "I don't hope for much… and I just try to enjoy what I have while I have it, and not think about whether or not it'll end until it does."

Hard-To-Hit nodded. "Good advice." He smiled a little. "You're a good person, Billy Jukes. For a pirate."

Billy smirked. "And for an Indian, you're not so bad yourself."

"I try."

"So," Billy said with a chuckle as he patted the pinto's neck. "What's his name?"

After a moment of what seemed to be conversing with the horse, Hard-To-Hit said, "He was never given a name. His mother died when he was very young, and she had never named him."

Billy frowned. "That's too bad." Then he patted the horse's neck again, smiling gently. "Want me to give you a name?" It whinnied. Billy grinned. "I'll take that as a yes." He went into thought for a moment, before he finally said with a smile, "I'll call ya Phil, then."

"Phil?" Hard-To-Hit asked incredulously.

"Short for Philip, which is short for Philippos, which means 'friend of horses'," Billy replied with a wink. "I dunno, I kinda like it." Hard-To-Hit continued to stare at him incredulously, so Billy said, "Hook has a lot of books. Sometimes I read 'em."

Phil whinnied.

Hard-To-Hit simply shook his head.

* * *

There once was a time when she was kind. A time when she laughed and played like any other child, and ran into the arms of her blood father and mother when she was frightened. Those days had long since passed, but the memories remained, as dusty and old as they were. She recalled the stories she had heard as a pup, terrible stories her ada told her to keep her out of trouble. Stories about nasty trolls and wizards who could singe your fur with the mere pointing of a finger.

She had half-believed it at the time. Of course, all children believe the stories their elders tell them, up to a certain point – and Icky was no exception. But those fears that had been instilled into her as a young pup were long gone, replaced by fears that were all too real. Yet, as she walked through the dense forests with a little human boy trailing along beside her and two enormous trolls flanking them on either side, she realized that – while some of the stories held truth – her ada had not known everything about Neverland's inhabitants.

Wary as she was, she made no small talk; not even with Tootles. But she did use her ears, and her eyes. And all her years of intense training to recognize every single inflection in a person's voice, their body movement, everything – she came to see that these trolls, while nasty and somewhat stupid – were not quite like the trolls in the stories her ada told her.

They were almost kind. Like her, she noticed with some curiosity, they were harsh and unmoving in their opinion (for the most part). They were tough – well, scratch that thought. Honkers was the one who was more troll-like; Shankers was simply a doofus. Icky almost smirked at the thought.

Unlike the trolls in her ada's tales, she saw that these two trolls were kind in their own right. Shankers doted on Tootles much like her mother had doted on her as a pup, cuddling and coddling the boy like a pet. He showered his own version of parental love on the boy, and though Honkers kept snarling at all three of them she often caught him smirking slightly out of the corner of his eye.

'_What a weird clan_,' she thought, eyeing the three. '_And it'll be even weirder once we get back to Nibs…_'

Speaking the boy, they were almost to her den. Icky couldn't help but feel a slight bit of apprehension. She didn't like revealing her resting places to anybody; with Nibs she had had no choice. He needed to be somewhere safe, and her den was the only place she deemed acceptable. But now, with Tootles and the trolls… she wasn't at all keen on showing them where she lived half the time. They could, after all, turn on her at any moment.

Her brow creased as her ears picked up a faint sound. It sounded like a strangled howl. She stopped in her tracks, ears pricked up, listening. Around her, the trolls and Tootles stopped as well.

"What dog-girl hear?" Shankers whispered, picking Tootles up and cuddling him protectively. Honkers simply stared at her, his eyes turning hard. He fingered the leash absently, ready to yank back on it should Icky try to make a run for it.

"I hear…howling," Icky said softly. Her eyes narrowed. "In a place where I don't think I ought to be hearing it." Her tail twitched and she felt her muscles tense. It's coming from my den! She thought. Slowly, her lips pulled back from her teeth as the howling rose in pitch.

"What is it?" Tootles whimpered, clutching at Shankers's neck.

"Nibs!" Icky hissed, taking a step forward. She felt the leash pull back, but before it could choke her she spun around and gave Honkers a baleful stare. "Let me off this!" she snarled.

"Wolf-girl not go anywhere," he snorted in reply. "Wolf-girl take us to… Nibs."

"That's where I am going, you half-wit!" Icky snapped back, tugging on the leash. "Something is wrong and we have to get there NOW! Take it off!!"

The howling came again, and this time they all heard it. Icky's hackles went up. Tootles turned a pitiful look to Honkers. "Please Honkers!" he pleaded. "Nibs may be in trouble!"

Shankers also turned a look on his brother. "Let dog-girl go!" he said harshly, not liking to see his troll-kin in distress. Honkers gave him a dirty look, but surprisingly enough he made no further comment other than a snarl in his own tongue, tearing the leash from Icky's neck.

"No try anything," he warned darkly. "Or else."

Icky didn't acknowledge him. She was off in a heartbeat. "Come on, then!" She vanished into the woods seconds later, and the suddenness of it caused the trolls to blink. Then they, too, were charging into the underbrush, hot on Icky's tail.

For her part the werewolf was going into battle mode. Her hackles stood on end and as she moved she began to morph into her true wolf form. Her ears flattened back against her skull and her short strides turned into long ones as humanoid hands turned into real paws and her body shifted. The trees went by in a blur as she charged forward, her breath coming in heavy pants and saliva flying from her muzzle.

Her keen sense of smell told her exactly where she was, and abruptly she made a left. Leaping over a bush and hurling herself towards the opening of the den she could see peeking through the bushes, she let out a howl of her own – a howl of warning and questioning. Behind her she could hear the trolls thundering through the forest, but they were practically forgotten as she lurched through the small space between the log and the den's mouth.

With her teeth bared, Icky bolted down the tunnel and into the den. She froze where she was, shoulders bunched, fur standing on end as she swung her head from side to side, looking for any sign of danger. Silence reigned, and it took a moment for her to realize that no one was there.

No one besides Nibs, whose body was nearing the final stages of the Change. He was staring at her fearfully, ears pinned back and tail tucked between his legs. Icky growled, padding towards him and quickly sniffing him over. His human shape had been all but discarded, and a rather small golden-furred wolf was hunkered down in the straw, shivering as she sniffed him from nose to tail.

_What the hell was that about?!_ She demanded sourly, finally taking a step back and sitting down before him, a look of disdain on her face. _Do you want to draw the enemy here?!_

_I-Icky?_ He simpered. _Is that you?_

_Of course it's me, you dolt!_ She snapped. Dimly, she realized that it had been a long time since she had spoken to another of her kind in the Old Tongue. And it didn't go unnoticed by her that Nibs was speaking it, too. _What the hell happened?_

_I woke up,_ Nibs whined, rubbing a paw over his muzzle. _And I was like this. And… Icky, what's going on?_ He let out a low, whining howl again. _I don't like this! What's happened to me?_

_You're about changed is what is happening,_ Icky said, concern evident in her voice. She moved to sniff him again. Her ears flicked. _Damn._

_What?_ Nibs whined, peeking out from under his paw.

Icky had a wolfish smirk on her face. _Nothing, never mind._ Had she been in her more humanoid form she would have been blushing. _Boy, he smells nice._

_Is it too late?_ Nibs whimpered, sitting up.

_I sure hope not,_ Icky retorted, quickly reverting to her more human shape and pulling out the wolfsbane from her pouch. _I've got the wolfsbane. Here, turn back human for a second._

Nibs blanched. _I…don't know how._

Icky stared. _Shit. This could be a problem._

Suddenly, there was a great thundering at the opening of the den. Nibs yelped and leaped into a corner, cowering there. Icky's head snapped up and she growled.

"Wolf-girl!" a voice roared. "You come out now!"

_Who is that?!_ Nibs yowled.

_Uhm…friends? I think._

_Friends?!_

"Nibs!" another voice cried. Nibs lifted his head and stared as the sounds of scrabbling were heard, and a boy came dashing into the den. He stopped dead in his tracks and gazed around. "Where is he?" the boy demanded of Icky.

The werewolf shrugged, and pointed. "Um, right there?"

Tootles turned and gazed at Nibs. For his part Nibs got to his feet, ears pricked forward as his tail wagged slowly. _Tootles,_ he said quietly, but to the boy it sounded only like a low whine.

"Nibs?" Tootles asked, stepping forward.

_Tootles!_ Nibs yelped, bouncing on his forefeet. His tail began to wag more furiously. _You're alive! Where are the others?_

_He can't understand you_, Icky murmured to him. Then, to Tootles, "He's glad you're alive and wants to know where the others are."

At that, Tootles' eyes filled with tears. He raced towards Nibs and flung his arms around the boy-turned-wolf's neck and began to sob hysterically. Nibs just sat there, his eyes wide as the boy began to babble at him about all that had happened, wailing miserably. Icky winced, sympathizing somewhat with the Lost Boy's plight and finding a deep anger welling up again.

_Saxon,_ she thought, feeling a red haze cross her mind. _He'll pay for this._

She watched, growing angrier with every second as Nibs tried to comfort his friend. Tootles couldn't understand him but Icky could, and she could hear him crying a little as he wrapped a paw around Tootles and held him close. She felt her fur bristling and her ears flattening, and before anyone noticed she padded down the tunnel and out into the forest where Honkers and Shankers were waiting.

They stared at her and she stared back. "Nibs is alive, and Tootles is fine," she said coldly. "They need their family moment."

Shankers nodded, and even Honkers seemed satisfied with her answer to their unasked question. Quietly, Icky began to pace, her fur standing on end as she made circles. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, thoughts that involved gutting and murder.

_If it was just me, it wouldn't be so bad. But no, he's destroying everything. My family, my… friends. All of it, he's taking it away. I won't stand for it! He's destroying so much… it can't go on. I won't let it go on!_

She paused, staring up at the sky with a fierce gleam in her eye. "I swear," she growled softly. "That no matter what, I will see the end of you. For all that you have done, for all the people you've hurt, for all those who have yet to come so they won't know of your evil…"

She bared her teeth, ignoring the trolls who were watching her.

"…SAXON!" she roared. "You will PAY for this!"

* * *

"Oh, you take the high road,  
And I'll take the low road,  
And I'll reach wherever we're going  
Before ya!"

Pyewacket's somewhat questionable singing voice echoed quietly in the forest as he sat on Mungojerrie's back, the cat studiously ignoring what he thought sounded like a thousand harpies screeching. The two had been traveling for quite some time on the outskirts of the swamp Slightly and the others were currently trudging through. Mungojerrie had refused to ride another animal or even come close to getting himself any filthier than he already was, and Pyewacket was just along for the ride.

Besides, the brownie thought. The group needed scouts and who better than he to do it?

Pyewacket stifled a yawn as he and Mungojerrie passed beneath a fallen tree, padding through the underbrush silently now that the brownie's singing had fallen quiet. The silence was almost oppressive, hence why he had been singing in the first place and now that he had stopped he felt the tension that had been in the air all night. His face turned into a frown.

He didn't like what was going on. It was terrible, frightening, and he had no need of adventures of any kind. He was more than happy to take care of his own and do his thing and not have any excitement in his life. This was more than he would prefer in the way of excitement. He had had enough of that back in the days when he had been under King Oberon's command, training the King's archers for future battles.

Pyewacket sighed. Back then he had been someone of importance. He was good at what he did, and had the battle scars to prove it. In the last war between the Seelie and Unseelie, he had stood at the front line directing his archers, bellowing out commands and watching the enemy fall, one by one. He recalled even taking some pleasure out of watching each bolt whistle through the skies to their intended target, striking the Unseelie bastards dead in their tracks.

_No,_ he thought with a shiver. _Not some pleasure. A lot of it._

As the seasons passed and spring turned to summer and summer to fall, and then to winter, Pyewacket's thirst for the blood of the enemy increased. And with growing horror he found himself wallowing in the pleasure it gave him to see his enemy fall, the bolts of his archers jutting from their breasts. And it would have kept growing, had he not made one mistake – a mistake that cost him the life of a young, inexperienced brownie whom he had had great hopes for.

His name had been Wikkit, and he was a quiet young fellow. He was the cautious sort, and he always listened intently to Pyewacket's instructions. He followed the older brownie about, asking questions – if that was one thing he remembered fondly, was that Wikkit was a well full of questions, always asking, always so curious. So proud was he in his student that Pyewacket had felt it time to take him for his first mission as a working member of Falcon's Landing, the king's own archers.

It was supposed to be a scouting mission. There were not enough spies or scouts at the King's disposal so archers often worked as scouts on top of their other duties, thanks to their soft step and ability to conceal themselves swiftly and effectively. They were fast and knew the forest better than any, and the duty given to them by the King that day was to observe the boundaries of Tintagel and ensure that there was no Unseelie activity in the area, as they had been spotted there on a number of occasions.

Sure of himself and of his student, Pyewacket led a group of the King's best archers and scouts into the woods surrounding the fairy city. At first there had been no sign, and it was then that Pyewacket made his mistake.

He let his guard down.

He remembered turning to smile at Wikkit, ready to impart a few words of wisdom for the youth, when an arrow flew from the trees to strike the boy through the chest. Blood had sprayed into Pyewacket's face, and when he again looked at his student Wikkit was falling to his knees. Gasping in horror, Pyewacket caught the boy before he hit the ground, roaring for his archers to take their positions and cover them.

"Pye…" Wikkit had gasped, as blood dribbled down his chin. "What…"

"Hush," Pyewacket whispered hurriedly, his own eyes wide as he stared at the bolt that struck through the youth's breast. "It'll be alright, you'll see. Just hang on."

"B-B…" Wikkit choked a little. "Big brother," he hissed as his head rolled to the side. "Help m-me…"

"No…" A slim hand flew to the young brownie's neck, frantically searching for a pulse. When one could not be found, tears sprang forth and he clutched at Wikkit, the boy who was his best student, the boy who was his youngest brother. "You can't leave me," Pyewacket hissed raggedly into an unhearing ear. "You can't….don't go little brother….please…"

But it was too late. A heart that had once beat strong was now silent, and Pyewacket knew his brother was now lost to him. The tears flowed as he laid Wikkit gently on the ground, and then drew his bow, knocking an arrow. He took aim, and one by one the Unseelie fell, the last sounds they heard being Pyewacket's mournful, enraged shrieks.

They had carried Wikkit back to the palace, and he had been given a proper burial. And all the while Pyewacket stood by, masking his pain with a stoic expression. Even as his brother was laid into the earth for his final bed, the brownie refused to cry. Not hours later he had gone to the king, demanding to be released from his duties as Master Archer and given leave to do as he pleased throughout Neverland.

Oberon had granted him his wish, and gave his condolences. The offer still lay open if he should ever decide to return he would be welcome to resume his duties as Master Archer, but Pyewacket never thought of returning. After the death of his brother, the brownie wanted nothing more to do with fighting and adventures and all that what-not. He had grown too confident, he had let his guard down, and it had cost him the life of his dearest brother. To return to that sort of life would be too painful, the agony in his heart more than he thought he could bear.

But now, he found himself living that life again. Against his will, of course. His brow furrowed as he absently clutched at Mungojerrie's fur, biting his lip. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wished he had his bow. _I can't back down now, though,_ he thought, turning to look back at the forest. _Slightly needs me. I can't abandon him, not now, not when we've come so far._

He closed his eyes briefly. _I couldn't help you, Wikkit, but I can help Slightly. Will that be enough to have some real peace after so long?_


End file.
